


Fortune's Throne

by PoetHrotsvitha



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gratuitous smut if I'm honest, Kylo really needs to stop being his own adviser, Magical Realism, Pregnancy, Rey is a badass, The Wars of the Roses, Wedding Night, magic sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 07:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 46,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8436406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoetHrotsvitha/pseuds/PoetHrotsvitha
Summary: For a moment, he just breathed, shoulders rising and falling as he stared at her.  “I can’t explain it,” he said, voice ragged. “No matter what I do, your presence haunts me. I can barely sleep for it.”[A Medieval Arranged-Marriage AU loosely based around English history, in which Rey is the victor and Kylo Ren the unwilling bridegroom.]





	1. On Fortune's Throne, I Used to Sit Raised Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is.... A sort of homage to the final bits of the Wars of the Roses, with characters mirroring key figures. There is some period typical violence.

Toeing the dirt, Rey looked over the camp. All she could see through the dark was the glow of campfires, hazily blocked by silhouettes of the men clustered around them. The whole place reeked of piss and slightly rotting meat, but her mind was far away, focused on what now lay only hours away.

She was nervous.

One figure broke away from the rest, slowly trudging up the hill towards her. As he got closer, she could just make out Luke’s features. He looked as exhausted as she felt. “You should try and get some rest.”

“As if I could sleep,” she replied, fiddling with the rosary in her pocket.

He walked to her side and they stood, shoulder to shoulder, looking towards the horizon. “We have prepared for this. God is on our side.”

She thought back to the nunnery, of Sister Unkar’s cruelty and days spent toiling in the dirt until there wasn’t a part of her that didn’t ache. “Doesn’t everyone think that?” 

\---

They strapped her into chainmail as the sun rose. Preparing for war was a noisy business; metal clanged all around her and men shouted to each other, horses canting nervously as birds squawked overhead.

“Remember,” Luke was coaching, as he always did. “Keep your eyes on Snoke. His forces outnumber ours, but more than half of them are away, garrisoned in Norwich and York. If you can strike him down, they will all founder.” 

She flexed her hands around taut leather gloves. “I know. We’ve been over this so many times that I think the knowledge is carved on my bones.” Taking a deep breath, she tried to speak around the knot in her throat. “Any word on reinforcements?”

“Not yet,” he admitted, looking grim. “But he will come. My sister is desperate to see her son survive this war, and those were our terms.”

Nodding slowly, she sent up yet another prayer.

When the last piece was fitted into place, he relaxed for long enough to grin. “My sources tell me that Snoke thinks ‘Rey’ is a man. With any luck, he’ll spot you in armour and be so shocked that he falls off his horse without any further help from us.”

She grinned back. “If it was good enough for the Maid of Orleans, it’s good enough for me.”

Squaring her shoulders, she walked out of her tent and climbed astride her charger. He was skittish, having picked up on the tension in the air, but she was sure that he would see her through this. Patting down his neck, she looked to Luke, now climbing aboard his own horse.

He raised his visor. “By God's grace, may you be Queen Rey of England when we next meet.”

\---

The moment before the charge was like hanging on a very high rope bridge, looking down into the abyss, feeling the thin line between standing and falling.

When it shattered, men roaring as they surged forward, the din was thunderous.

Rey had hoped to be able to keep track of what was happening on the battlefield as a whole. Instead, she was immediately swamped by bodies, men falling to her left and right as arrows fell from the sky. The first fighter reached her, raising his sword in an even movement.

 _Focus on one fight at a time_ , Luke’s voice whispered.

She swung her halberd with precision born of months and months of gruelling practice, burying it in the shoulder of her opponent. With a yell, she rode close enough to kick him away and tear her weapon free, heaving it into the neck of her next attacker. On and on, she hacked, blood and viscera coating her visor, an endless supply of enemies blocking her way as she tried to move forward.

The arrow seemed to come from nowhere. It landed right next to her leg, burying itself in her charger’s flank. He bucked and she lost her balance, heart pounding loud enough to even drown out the sounds of death around her as she fell to the ground.

The dirt was wet when she landed, slick with blood. She tried to straggle to her feet, but the advancing hoard was a tidal wave, crushing everything that it encountered.

For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to die. Peaceful, maybe. Quick, hopefully.

A cry went up from the men around her, loud enough to even be heard over the chaos. It was excited; when she craned to look where they were pointing, she saw another army standing on the hill, holding standards bearing a portcullis.

 _Lord Han_.

As they bore down, the battlefield began to shift, her own men surging forward with new energy.

The crowd parted, and for a moment, Rey saw Snoke. He was astride his massive black war charger and bellowing in fury. When a path cleared, he started to gallop, storming towards Han and her reinforcements.

Stripping her gloves off, she reached down, pushing through the grime until she felt the dirt beneath her fingers. Praying that a stray arrow wouldn’t strike her down, she closed her eyes.

Her gift thrummed in her skin, always waiting, simmering just below the surface. Contact with the earth grounded her, gave her a conduit. Through her exhaustion, she drew on a deep well of power, sending it rippling through the ground. Colours swirled behind her eyes as her chest warmed. In her mind’s eye, she hurtled towards Snoke, unhindered by any earthly obstruction. Thank God that she was close enough now to reach him.

The monster himself was warded tightly, as one might have expected. It was flashy, bright to her sight, blinding in its strength. His horse had the same ridiculous level of protection.

The ground, though. He could not ward the whole of England.

Pulling, sucking in air through her teeth, she dragged the dirt down, swirling, twisting it in a funnel further into the earth. Snoke galloped onwards, completely unprepared when his horse’s foot caught on the hole. The beast went down with a heart-rending scream and Snoke flipped head over heels as he was hurled to the muck below. 

With her gift still nestled in the ground, she could hear him. “A horse!” He screamed. “Get me a horse, you fools, get me a horse!”

Rey saw the moment when an anonymous knight pushed a sword under Snoke’s visor, red-stained and wet when it thrusted out the other side. It was close, too close; she withdrew her hands from the earth with a gasp, snapping back into her body.

Pushing to her feet, she swayed. She didn’t feel victorious. She felt numb. And tired, oh so tired. Clutching her halberd, she swung as yet another man bore down on her, trying to hold her ground until the news of Snoke's death spread. 

It took time, but the cry gradually went up as soldiers faltered, not willing to fight for a dead king. The enemy’s standard-bearer lowered their flag, signalling surrender. Wincing and clutching the arm she had landed on, Rey worked towards Snoke’s body, climbing over dead bodies and trying not to look too closely at the men who had fallen for her. Masses would be said later, candles lit. For now, she needed to focus.

Bending, she wrenched the crown off of Snoke’s visor. Pushing to a boulder and climbing atop it, she lifted it into the air with a triumphant thrust.

The crowd began to chant. “The King is dead! Long live the Queen!”

A knight staggered towards her, tearing off his visor to reveal a relieved looking Luke.

She had to yell to be heard. “It's finished.”

“Oh Rey,” he shouted back, “it’s only just begun.”

\---

Lord Han offered to stay behind and make sure the battlefield was put in order. Grateful, she accepted. It was two days ride to London through densely forested terrain, and she was eager to start her work. There was much to be done: remaining old loyalists would have to be quashed, the mercenaries needed to be paid, the majority of Snoke’s soldiers would have to be pardoned, and she had to receive oaths of fealty from the nobility as soon as possible. They sent a messenger ahead, speeding down the road to tell the news of her victory as their much larger convoy straggled on.

Within a day, a different rider flagged them down frantically, waving a piece of parchment. “Letter for Lord Luke!”

He opened it slowly. Rey waited, impatient but knowing from hard-earned experience that there was no point in rushing him.

He frowned. “It's from my sister. London has surrendered, with Kylo Ren held captive.”

“Ah.” She twisted her mouth, drumming her fingers against her knee. “I rather hoped he’d be killed in battle.”

“A bit uncharitable.”

“Yes, well.” She waved to the men and jogged her horse into movement again. “I'm hardly going to be excited to see him, am I?”

Luke followed her, tucking the letter into his doublet. “Perhaps try not to express that to my sister. We owe your victory to her and Han, this seems a small price to pay.”

“To you, perhaps.” She shot him a filthy look. “You're not the one who has to marry him.”

“True,” he conceded. “True.”

\---

Luke had warned her that Londoners were a force to themselves. They followed who they pleased and routinely rioted when unhappy. For now, they wanted her, and she was grateful for it. She even went to the trouble of finding a dress in order to appear sufficiently Queenly.

Her procession into the city was flanked by cheering crowds. It was overwhelming, so different from the empty quiet of her room in the nunnery that it could have been another world.

That seemed so far away now.

They made their way towards the Tower, the drawbridge down and gates raised when they arrived. As they went through to the courtyard, a woman with delicately entwined braids and a fur-lined robe came rushing towards them, arms outstretched.

“Leia,” Luke said fondly, jumping off his horse to embrace her. “I'm glad you are safe.”

“And I, you,” she said, grinning ear to ear over his shoulder.  

“Now, may I present-” he outstretched his arm towards Rey, “- Rey, by the Grace of God, Queen of England, France and Lord of Ireland. Your Grace, my sister, Lady Leia.”

Lady Leia swept into a deep curtsy, appropriate even at her station for addressing the monarch. “Your Grace. We have corresponded.”

It was a strange way to refer to sending a marriage contract and demanding that her son both survive the regime change _and_ receive a rise in station in exchange for support in arms. “You may rise, Lady Leia. I am thankful for the support of you and your husband.”

“Of course.” She stood gracefully and looked back and forth between them. “There is the… Small matter of my son’s captivity to attend to.”

Luke pulled of his gloves, helping Rey down from her horse. “Have you enough energy now?”

Gritting her teeth, she nodded. Might as well get it over with.

They trooped down to the dungeons, flanked by guards and attendants that seemed to melt out of nowhere. Luke followed behind his sister, walking like he knew exactly where he was going. Which, Rey supposed, he would; though it had been almost a decade since he set foot in England, the layout of a castle was hardly likely to have changed.

“How did you subdue him?” Luke asked as they wound round and round a circular staircase, heading underground.

“Paid a maid to put a sleeping draught in his soup,” Leia said lightly. “There was no love lost for Snoke in these parts, and my son was his right hand man.” Her words turned bitter as she spoke, like she was tasting something unpleasant on her tongue.

They walked silently for the rest of the way. When they drew close to a cell, everyone else hung back. As the guard opened the door, only the three of them stepped into the dark.

He was hunched over a bench on the other side of the room, features shrouded in shadow. Raising his head a fraction, his eyes narrowed on his Mother. “Lady Leia, Lord Luke. What a charming surprise.”

“Son,” she said, “I have brought the new Queen. Your betrothed,” she added, putting emphasis on the word.

“I would rather die,” he said flatly.

Rey’s eye twitched in irritation. So much for hoping for a man with some sense. 

Lady Leia sighed, tapping her foot against the stone floor. “Yes, I hear you've been refusing food”

Rey broke in with an outraged sputter. “You've been refusing _food?_ ” Years of hunger at St. Jakku and Sister Unkar’s stingy treatment of the noviciates had left her with an absolutely fanatic belief that food should not be wasted; she once caught one of the mercenaries stealing food from a child and Luke had to haul her away before she seriously hurt the man.

He gave her a filthy look. “Yes, your  _Grace,_ so if you'd just go ahead and have me executed, this would all end a lot faster.”

It was tempting. But rationally, Rey knew that Lady Leia and Lord Han were her best allies in a foreign court; they held influence, could sway others. She couldn't afford to alienate them. And further, as the former heir, Ren represented the old regime. His presence would ease the transition, placate those who were worried about being left behind in the inevitable power shuffle. It was logical, she knew, even if she hated it. “Don't be such a child.”

He rose to his feet. God’s teeth, he was _big_ , easily a head taller than her and with a shoulder span that dwarfed even Luke. He stomped towards her and only stopped when there was a rattle, having reached the limit of the chain keeping him secured to the bed. As he moved forward, his face was suddenly cast into light, revealing bold features and black hair that curled around his shoulders. “I have _no interest_ in swearing fealty to some straggler who has been God knows where for the past two decades, riding in with a band of foreigners under the standard of a dragon that no one has ever seen. You don't deserve to rule.”

She gritted her teeth. “I won it by right of conquest.”

“Oh please, as if standing on a hillside and watching men die for you-”

“I was there!” she barked, suddenly furious. She had _fought_ , all for the burden of duty and the promise of making a difference for good, and no one could take that from her. “While you were locked in here, I had blood on my hands! I _felt_ Snoke die!”

If anyone thought her choice of words strange, they said nothing.

His face changed ever so slightly. Drawing back, he titled his head, silent.

She took a deep breath and collected herself. “I am the last of the Kenobi line. You are the last of the Skywalker line. We have legacies to defend.”

This time, he didn't disagree, watching her.

“I have read the histories. Your Grandfather made this country prosperous and safe.” At a great cost, but that was a conversation for another day. “You owe it to his blood, flowing through your veins, to adapt to your circumstances.”

Leia was looking back and forth between them anxiously, Luke standing in the shadows like a sentry with his arms crossed.

Ren just stared.

“Fine,” Rey hissed. “This is preposterous, I'm not going to beg. Starve yourself if you want, we can give the food to another more deserving.” She turned on her heel. “Guard, open this door-”

“Very well.”

It was said so quietly that she almost missed it.

When she turned, Kylo Ren was watching her with narrowed eyes, his expression grim. “I'll go forward with this ridiculous farce.”

“Wonderful,” she snapped, marching out of the cell as the door creaked open. “Free him!” she demanded to the stunned looking guard, trusting that Lady Leia would take care of whatever arrangements were necessary.

As fast as she could, she stomped back up the stairs, pushing past curious looking attendants. She just wanted to get out of this damp and dark place, back to sunlight and earth where she could feel the sweetness of the air on her face and be grateful that she was still alive.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made my first ever [**Reylo aesthetic**](https://poethrotsvitha.tumblr.com/post/152572229275/made-my-first-ever-aesthetic-for-my-new-medieval) for this fic! So that's a thing, I guess. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> The "Maid of Orleans" is a reference to Joan of Arc who, of course, wore armour. 
> 
> Rey's title- Queen of England and France, lord of Ireland- is a bit more about posturing than any reality. England only owned a tiny bit of France by this stage, and they had negligible control over Ireland.


	2. Poverty and Power Melt Like Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic exists in large part because of the wonderful and kind reception that I had for my [**first, fluffy Reylo piece**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8113564). The encouragement and love that I received there made me want to try again, this time with a longer work. 
> 
> The first chapter confirmed what I already know: the Reylo community is a lovely and supportive place. Every single comment made me glow from the inside out. Thank you, everyone.

“The date for your coronation is in two weeks. I've taken the liberty of making some arrangements.”

Lady Leia was striding back and forth across the stone floor, parchment trailing from her hands, stabbing at the sheet with her finger as she spoke. Rey was standing in the middle of the room with her arms outstretched, trying to hold still as two women worked around her quickly, stitching and snipping fabric against her form. They had all gasped when she initially unlaced her kirtle- her arms were still mottled with bruises, remnants of the fall from her horse. After a brief interlude of fussing over her bravery, the seamstresses had poked and prodded at her in wonder, remarking that they had never seen a woman so muscular.

It was both uncomfortable and pleasant to be in the company of women again. Two years of roving and training with Luke had made that a rare thing indeed.

Lady Leia paused in front of the fire, hitching the parchment up a bit. Rey was quickly learning that this stately woman's energy and organization were something of a wonder to behold. “Obviously, two weeks is almost no time, but we must move quickly to establish legitimacy. We can alter some of the dresses from your Great-Uncle’s Queen- they must be around somewhere- to something more stylish. The Archbishop of Canterbury is riding as we speak to officiate the ceremony.” She tapped her fingers to her lip. “I have placed Lady Kitrynn in charge of finding a place for visiting nobles to stay; obviously the Tower doesn't have enough room. The sooner the crown is secured and we can leave here, the better.”

Rey couldn't help but agree. Even with her short stay, she already knew the Tower was draughty and damp, the rooms small and uncomfortable, and the kitchens so far that food was inevitably cold by the time it reached the table. All the same, at least until she was confirmed by the Church as God’s own anointed, it was safest to be behind six-foot walls. “Where will we move to?”

“Anywhere you please.” She gave Rey a deferent nod. “But I would suggest Whitehall. Perhaps Westminster.” Pausing to inspect the seamstresses’ work, she ran her finger along a few of the finer stitches before she nodded, apparently finding it satisfactory. “I have paid the merchants of London for 500 barrels of wine and two performing troupes for the benefit of the people. This will be in addition to the masques during your procession through the streets-”

Rey interrupted, chewing her lip uneasily. “Does the treasury have the funds for this?”

“My dear girl, absolutely not. But it must appear as though it does, and I am marshalling loans as we speak. Power is about performance.”

The seamstresses stepped away, finished with their work. Rey lowered her arms, trying to rub the stiffness from her joints.

Lady Leia stepped forward to help her back into her gown. “And of course, after the coronation itself, there will be your first Feast. The public will view, naturally, and ambassadors and the nobility will be in attendance. They will all be presented to you over the next week, so you will know some names and faces in advance.”

Rey was starting to feel vaguely dizzy. “Right.”

“Don't fret, your Grace. My son will be there to help.”

Staring at the strange beasts lining the tapestries on the walls, Rey found herself not terribly reassured.

\---

The sky was a clear and bright blue as she made her way to the training yard, halberd over her shoulder. It caused something of a commotion when she began her forms; the only woman on the grass, most of the fighting stopped as people turned to stare.

It was hardly the first time this had happened. Thrusting and spinning the staff, she recalled when she had stepped out to train in front of the mercenaries. There had been open mockery until she dealt out a few bruises.

There was the crunch of footsteps behind her. “Not the most Queenly behaviour.”

Even without turning, she knew that voice. “And what would you define as Queenly behaviour, Lord Ren?”

“Certainly not wearing men’s breeches.”

With a spin, she moved the staff of her blade so quickly in his direction that he had to hop back to avoid it. “What a relief, then, that being Queen falls to me and not to you.”

His tone was droll. “That's one perspective, your _Grace_.” He still managed to make it sound like an insult.

Gritting her teeth, she paused and faced him. Fully armoured and with his visor down, she couldn't make out his expression. “Do you have something to say to me, Lord Ren?”

“Regretting not having me executed yet?”

“That happens when a man doesn’t even give me the respect of showing me his face when he speaks.”

Raising his hands to his helmet, he tugged it off. It was her first time seeing him in proper daylight, and she was first struck by how irritatingly perfect his hair looked- how did he manage that? Without the shadows, she could see now that he had small black moles dotted across his face, scattered like a constellation. 

In a smooth movement, he tucked the helmet under his arm. “Better?”

She turned away from him. “Debatable.”

There was a pause as she resumed her exercises, resolutely determined to ignore him. He was less willing to let the conversation go. “Is this what you used to fight at Bosworth?”

“Yes.”

“A curious choice.”

She was proud of her halberd. “It extends my reach, to compensate for my height.” A problem, no doubt, that he had never come up against.

He clicked his tongue. “Do you use a blade?”

She did. “When necessary.”

There was a vague snorting noise from him. Pivoting again, she brought her halberd down over her head and buried it into the ground next to him with a solid _thunk_. “Boy!” she called out, beckoning over to a young man standing on the sidelines in a dusty white tunic. “What’s your name?”  

He sprinted over and sunk down in a bow. “B-b-Bobb, I mean, uh, Robbert, your Grace. Eighth of that name in my family.”

“Bobb,” she said, not unkindly, “would you please go to the Round Tower and have my sword fetched?” She gave Ren a filthy look. “I would do some sparring.”

Bobb sprinted off without a backwards glance.

A small crowd was gathering, drawn by the obvious animosity between them. Ren’s expression had slid from derision to amusement. “You do realize I’m almost twice your size.”

She rolled her shoulders, limbering up. “I’ve fought bigger.”

Bobb returned with admirable speed, holding out her scabbard. As Rey faced Ren and drew the blade, his face immediately darkened in a fury that she didn’t expect. “Where did you get that?”

There was a definite shift in the mood of the crowd, sliding from interested to nervous in a moment. They began to back away, as though he had given a signal for them to scatter like chaff in the wind.

Undeterred, she gave it a few practice spins. “Luke gave it to me.”

“That blade belongs to me.”

Ignoring him, she stepped into position, gesturing him forward. He drew his sword with a snarl and tossed his helmet aside, slipping into position as they circled each other.  

She lunged first, swinging her sword over her head as she darted forward; he blocked the blow easily, forcing her to her left. She tried a few more strikes, and again, he merely clashed their blades together and slid hers aside, metal shrieking as they made contact.

When he finally moved into the offensive, it was to do an even sideswipe that she ducked easily. He was clearly used to fighting bigger, slower opponents, men that weren’t able to dart away as nimbly she could.

Unable to land a satisfying blow, they circled and circled, slashing at each other while the anxiety of the crowd grew. After one deflecting blow, he suddenly switched his feet and shoved her with his shoulder, swiftly stepping out of reach as she staggered and fell to one knee.

He tossed his hair out of his eyes and sneered. “You don't deserve that sword.”

Bloody bastard. She leapt back to her feet and lunged at him again; they locked blades, braced and leaning into the crossed swords until her arms ached.

Closing her eyes, she drew on the core of clean flame that burned in her chest, connecting her to the ground and the soft grass underfoot. With a deep breath through her nose, she calmed herself and drew the tendrils of light through chest, to her hands, letting the power flow through her whole being.

When she opened her eyes again, he was staring at her in blank shock.

Narrowing her focus, she _shoved_ with the light. He staggered, almost as though his feet were yanked out from underneath him, falling against the ground as his sword thumped beside him.

Panting, she held her blade to his nose. “Do you yield?”                                                   

Wordless, his stare had changed to something akin to wonder.

Sheathing her sword in a smooth movement, she turned her back on him and marched away.

\---

The introductions came thick and fast. Ambassadors, nobles, attendants, clergy; they were all keen to make their faces known to her and ensure that they would not be forgotten in the coming days.

Many of them blurred together. A few stood out.

The first notable presentation came when she was beginning to drift away one afternoon, thoroughly tired of trying to keep up with the Latin spoken by endless representatives of the Church.

A figure stepped forward at Leia’s beckoning, looking nervous. Getting on one knee, he kept his eyes trained on the ground. “Your Grace, I have been recommended by Lady Leia to be Captain of your Guard, with your permission.”

She leaned forward out of her chair in interest. He had the most beautiful skin, dark like the Moors from Spain. “What is your name?”

“I am called Finn,” he said, with an accent that she couldn’t place.

“Well, Finn,” Rey said, motioning for him to stand. “I give my permission freely. I am indebted to Lady Leia’s advice.”

Finn stood stiffly. “As are we to your accession.” She gave him her fullest smile and he relaxed slightly. “You are slightly less… Unpredictable than he who came before you.”

Rey laughed at that. “I’m glad to hear that. I look forward to working with you.”

Finn's returned smile was shy and keen. From that moment on, he became her shadow, constantly present in order to ensure her safety. 

The second remarkable introduction came not in her throne room with a crowd watching on, but with a knock late at night. When an attendant opened the heavy door, a man was standing at the arch in a cloak and with his hat drawn over his eyes. As he lifted the brim, she vaguely recognized him as one of the many people pointed out in passing by Lady Leia.

“Your majesty,” he began, “might I have a word in private?”

She nodded and the room emptied. Walking to her, he sank into a low bow. “My name is Dameron, your Grace, and I would like to offer the services of my network on these shores and beyond.”

She frowned at him. “Your network?”

Raising his head, he grinned at her. “Your Grace, have you ever had need of a spymaster?”

\---

It was the eve of her coronation when she felt it for the first time, a ripple in the air like someone had walked over her grave.

The sensation was unlike anything she had ever grasped before. It could have almost been her own gift, sparking in her skin, if it were not somehow toxic and laced with poison.

Shoving her covers aside carefully in order to not wake the attendant sleeping beside her, she pulled on her slippers, wrapping a cloak around her shoulders. Candle in hand, she walked briskly, determined to find the source of this seeping wound.

She crossed the grass, quickly gesturing to the guards who recognized her with the light held to her face. The sensation led her across the green, to the tower opposite, and up the stairs. The damp of the walls glittered against candlelight as she climbed, flame guttering from the breeze that cut through the arrowslips.

The closer she got, the thicker the feeling became in the air. By the time she reached a slightly open door, it was almost dense enough that it made it difficult to breathe.

Hesitantly, slowly, she peered around the corner.

He stood in front of a roaring fire, knife in one hand stained with dripping blood. As she watched, Ren lifted his other palm, revealing a long red laceration that made her wince in sympathetic pain. Moving deliberately, he pressed his hand to the wall above the fireplace, letting out a long and hissed breath as he dragged a slow and torturous circle onto the stone. When the circle was complete, she felt the air heavily warp and snap; and just like that, the tension eased, the sickly cloud vanished in a moment.

As if suddenly sensing her presence, he glanced towards the door.

Swallowing a gasp, she skittered away and back down the steps. Back in the moonlight with damp grass underfoot, she slowed and made her way back to her bed, trying to understand what she had seen.

Long after she crawled back under the covers, she could feel the flaring glow of her own gift within her skin.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if you can actually use a [**halberd**](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halberd) the way I describe Rey doing. But I don't care, because in my head it looks badass as fuck and it makes more sense than a pike. 
> 
> I had a choice of going with traditional and realistic names or giving them a more fantasy/SW tilt. I decided to go with the latter. This is partly because I thought it would look less strange in combination with names like "Rey" and "Kylo Ren", and partly because I didn't want the headache of writing Rey interacting with fourteen different Marys (as would have actually been the case at the time).
> 
> When Rey goes exploring at night, she has to be careful not to wake the attendant in her bed because it was quite common- even for monarchs- to have another person [**under the covers with them (platonically!)**](http://notchesblog.com/2014/01/06/three-wise-men-in-a-bed-bedsharing-and-sexuality-in-medieval-europe/). Partly for safety, and partly for warmth. 
> 
> The Reylo will start to develop pretty quick here, mostly once Ren stops being a complete and utter tool.
> 
> Also I'm [**on Tumblr**](https://poethrotsvitha.tumblr.com/post/152700742975/fortunes-throne), come say hiiiii.


	3. Oh Fortune, Like the Moon, You are Changeable

They laced her into a soft dress interwoven with cloth of gold, the fabric shimmering when she moved in the sunlight. Her hair was left down, highlighting her status as a woman of moral purity. She felt practically weighed down by the jewels lining her head and throat, but she saw the wisdom of it. Things were precarious. Far too precarious to inspire true calm. So instead she would have to try and impress with her majesty, emphasize that the Crown was powerful and had everything in hand.

And then she just needed to make that a reality. 

The roads were filled with cheering crowds, the chaos having remarkably little effect on the Tower's well-trained horses. Children were shuffled to the front, waving to her shyly and hiding behind their mothers whenever she waved back.

She perched side-saddle and rode at the head of the procession. At the moment, after all, no one was her equal.

Her retinue followed her, guards all clothed in striking crimson and black. They even had ostridge plumes that hung from their hats, giving the whole procession a slightly jaunty feel. Look at us, it all said. Look at how wealthy our new Queen is. Look at how loyal we will be. You have nothing to fear.

The cathedral itself was decorated magnificently. Rey allowed herself to marvel at the ceiling for a moment, wondering if it was so high that it could perhaps truly reach God. When she finally lowered her gaze, she took in the crowd of nobility who resided close enough to London to easily attend, sitting respectfully in rows.

Luke carried the crown into the Cathedral. He had earned that right when he found her locked in the penitence room of St. Jakku. When he explained that he was a close friend of her parents before their deaths and that he owed them a debt he wished to repay. When he offered her a chance at a new life.

Lord Han carried the sceptre, given how he had swooped to her rescue in her time of need. Where Luke was the past, Lord Han was the future, an inclusion of nobility that had existed under Snoke and a demonstration of peace towards them.

The Archbishop of Canterbury anointed her with oil and placed the crown on her head.

Her heart was in her throat as he lowered the metal. It seemed to last an age, her whole body tense as she waited. 

As soon as it touched her skin, Rey felt a brief and powerful warp in the air. It was as dark and unholy as Ren’s blood circle, somehow inherently corrupted. It stole the breath from her lungs, making her grip the sceptre tighter as the priest droned on. There was such malevolence in it that it filled her with rage, turning the tiles beneath her feet red, strangling her chest and filling her throat with bile.

And then, just as quickly, it disappeared. Its sudden absence was almost as shocking as the sudden descent, giving the sensation of abruptly coming up from underwater. 

She was still reeling when the priest finished his blessing, everyone rising to their feet so that the mass could continue. With a prickle along the back of her neck, heart thumping in her chest, she stood and confirmed that she now felt completely herself. The festering wound on her soul was gone. 

The priest asked the crowd if they accepted her as their new monarch. The cheer went up: _Yea! Yea!_

The rest of the service was jubilant, hymns sung with echoing enthusiasm. Briefly, she noticed Lady Leia sobbing into a kerchief towards the side of the room, her stony-faced son perfectly composed beside her.

\---

By the time the court had finished moving to Whitehall, she was already exhausted. She forced her steps with the crowd to the Great Hall, where she took a seat at the centre of the head table, itching to lift the heavy crown off her brow.

Minstrels were playing merrily, guests slowly taking their places. Ren moved to sit to her left at a chair slightly lower than hers and she glanced towards him, the image of him with a bleeding palm still playing across her mind. He was dressed in an expensive looking doublet and hose, everything made from solid black fabric. Which, as she now knew, was his usual custom.

He inclined his neck towards her. “May I offer my congratulations,” he murmured, not meeting her eyes.

She just nodded wordlessly, fingers clenching in the fine skirts of her dress.

The serving boys began to arrive, bearing great dishes of succulents and meat. They would first make their way to her table, where she would take a bite of the morsel, judge its quality, and- if it was good- send it along to whoever was deserving.

Luke got the first fine cut, of course. Followed by Lord Han and Lady Leia. Her ladies in waiting, next, and the Archbishop of Canterbury and his retinue certainly needed to be shown respect.

After that, she hesitated.

She was so tired, and there were so many people, and her head was pounding from trying to retain so much information. Her hands were starting to clench in panic when there was a rustle to her left.

“Sir Kotenn is old and ill,” Ren murmured at her elbow. “He has three daughters who are very young. It would be a great advantage to the crown for them to become wards of the state- to control their wealth until they are of marriageable age.” Shifting his gaze, he looked to the other side of the room. “Lord Hanerim is absent, but his Lady is here- they control great swaths of the West and are very anxious about being included in this new regime. It is in your interest to flatter them, not offend them. They have a great deal of wealth from the wool trade.” Moving again, he jerked his head in a small motion towards the back. “Sir Phett is sitting in the distance because he is afraid that you will view him as an enemy, due to his ties from…” He cleared his throat. “From before.” _From when I was the heir_. “But he has a lot of influence within the army. He is best on your side.”

Blinking at him slowly, she twisted and leaned in so that they had a measure of privacy. “Why are you helping me?”

She couldn’t see his face this way, given that he was speaking directly into her ear, but she could hear his irritation anyway. “I’m not going to be associated with incompetence if you don’t know what you’re doing. I have to be a part of this reign too.” When he leaned back, there was an infuriatingly smug smile playing across his lips. “You need a teacher.”

For a moment, she wanted to fling her wine into his face and send all of the food directly to the crowds of Londoners observing the feast from the back. But grudgingly, she had to acknowledge that his words sounded familiar. As he spoke them, there was a ghost of a memory of Lady Leia saying the same things, trying to coach her to remember from a list.

It would make sense that her son would be a statesman too.

Gritting her teeth, she sent the dishes as he directed and listened to his whispered instructions for the rest of the meal.

\---

Some of the tables were cleared away for dancing, basic roundels that could accommodate large groups of people. Before that could begin, though, the Queen would have to open the festivities by dancing first.

Normally, a man would ask a woman. Normally, a King would ask a Queen. There was a tense silence as everyone watched her turn to Ren. His lips thinned slightly, and after she nodded, they both rose at the same time. It was a basic compromise for the time being.

Taking his gloved hand, she walked with him to the centre of the room, beginning to turn and pivot as the minstrels picked up a tune.

This chance to talk was rare- they were never left alone, not that she would want them to be- and she intended to take advantage of it. “Do you care to explain,” she said, murmuring it as they passed shoulder to shoulder, “what you did to the crown?”

For once, he sounded confused instead of mocking. “The crown?”

“I felt the darkness warp around it,” she said grimly, keeping her eyes trained straight ahead. “I felt its malevolence. I know that malevolence- this was your doing.”

His hand tightened almost unbearably on hers. “You. You were the one outside the door.” His voice dropped, barely a low growl. “You do not understand what you saw.”

“I think I understood very clearly,” she said, refusing to be intimidated. “If you try to take the crown through seditious means, Lord Ren, I will have you executed for treason.”

There was a hiss of his breath as he exhaled through his teeth. Hand loosening, he completed the last few steps of the dance and quickly stepped away, offering her a half-hearted bow. “Your Grace, unless you plan to arrest me now, I believe I am done making merry. Good evening.”

Without even looking back, he turned on his heel and marched away. A few courtiers gaped at him as he left; not only was it tremendously rude for him to show his back, it was hardly the behaviour of a doting husband-to-be.

Odious man. Stupid, frustrating, odious man. This couldn’t be allowed to continue.

Nodding discreetly to Finn, she made her excuses and navigated her way through the increasingly drunk crowd as others stood to dance. Leaving the Great Hall, she found him a corridor and a half later, standing at a window with one hand covering his face.

“Lord Ren!” she snapped, wooden soles clacking loudly on the stone as she walked. “I demand an explanation, and I demand it now.”

He whipped around, lip curled with disdain. “You foolish _girl_. Do you think that Snoke, a man gifted enough to manipulate entire oceans, would not leave any safeguards in place for after his death?”

That was not what she expected. “What?” 

“That crown,” he said, stabbing his finger towards it, “demands a price of any who wear it. Except for Snoke’s dedicated heir- which is to say, me.”

“But then-”

“The price is _blood_ , your Grace.” He yanked one of his gloves off and held his palm out to her, the scar still clear and red against his pale skin. “So I paid it.”

The scene took on a whole new meaning, one where the dark had eased with the blood circle because the charm was broken. “But…” In some ways, it made much less sense than his cursing her. “Why?”

For a moment, he just breathed, shoulders rising and falling as he stared at her.  “I can’t explain it,” he said, voice ragged. “No matter what I do, your presence haunts me. I can barely sleep for it. I want…” He lifted his arm slowly, almost as if he wasn’t aware of it moving. “I want…”

The second his fingertips made brushing contact with her cheek, her gift flared like a new log hitting a roaring fire. His fingers jerked back like he had touched something hot, his eyes wide as they both let out mirrored sharp gasps.

Stuffing the hand back into his glove, he turned heel again and strode away. This time, though, instead of a furious tantrum, it looked more like a fleeing retreat. 

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and letting the chill in the air cool her skin. “Finn?”

“My Queen,” he responded, stepping out from an alcove where he had remained a discreet distance away.

The headache had reached an unbearable pitch, which basically made her decision. “Please inform Lady Leia that I will be retiring for the evening, and that I need her to take care of the guests.” She waited as he nodded and quickly relayed her instructions to a guard standing at the next corner. He then fell into step behind her as she walked, winding her way through the corridors.

Three turned corners and one staircase later, she felt him hesitate. “My Queen,” he said slowly. “May I speak freely?”

She stopped and turned to smile at him, suddenly embarrassed by her preoccupied rudeness. He was sincere and simply _good_ , and she found that she liked him better with each passing day. “Please do.”

“Before I was Finn,” he said, throat working as he looked away and swallowed. “I had a different name. As a part of Snoke’s enforcers. I did… Terrible things at his command. Things that I couldn’t stomach. Things that Lady Leia helped me escape from.” He took a deep breath. “During that time, I answered to Lord Ren. He is… A violent man. An unpredictable man. The children who disappeared from the Tower- that was no doubt at his close involvement, and many others have fallen to his sword. Please. Be careful. Do not drop your guard.”

That was forward, probably too forward about his future King. All the same, she appreciated it immensely- in a sea of people desperate to tell her whatever would keep them safest, Finn had taken a risk to tell her what he thought was the truth. “Thank you,” she said, taking his hand and giving it a quick squeeze. “I will be vigilant.”

As she resumed walking, it was with a sense of unease. Finn was, no doubt, sincere. But she wasn’t sure how to reconcile the monster he described with the man who bled for her safety when he could have very easily let her die and taken the crown for himself.

\---

Before she genuinely retired, she indulged in a short visit to the little courtyard garden reserved for her private use. Finn took a post just on the inner side of the doorway, gifting her with a real sense of solitude for the first time in weeks.

She had been delighted to discover the garden’s existence. It was rarely used in the last regime but diligently tended to by gardeners nonetheless, the soil rich and well tilled. Filled with fading flowers, the space was deeply calming.

Her gift was still pulsing brightly under her skin. It was strange; normally, it took concerted effort to pull upon that power, to drag it up from its resting place. Now, though, she felt it trembling just inches away from her fingers. Like it was ready to answer her call at the slightest notice.

She wiggled her fingers and one of the wilting blooms in front of her perked up, regaining its fullness and colour as she watched. Twisting her hand, she focused and the entire flower bush rustled to life as new leaves twisted out of stems and crumpled petals regained their lustre. The plant became a vibrant anomaly among its slowly dying counterparts, practically glowing with life.

When she was finished, her arm was shaking. So the work still took its toll, then, it was just now much easier to summon. For… whatever reason.

There was an invisible little tug at the back of her neck and she turned, raising her eyes along the walls. She saw a distant dark form standing at one of the windows; even without being able to make out any of his features, she _knew_ it was Ren.

She couldn’t explain how she knew. She just did.

As she watched, he moved away, fading out of sight.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could they be starting to get along? The answer is Yes But Very Slowly. 
> 
> Shout out to **smols-darksider** for correctly guessing the purpose of Ren's magic in the last chapter! (•’╻’• ۶)۶
> 
> Witnessing a feast was a genuine thing. Every so often, on designated days, the peasantry could come in and watch (from a distance) the monarch eat with his court. No TV, I guess. 
> 
> I skipped a bunch of stuff in medieval coronations because I didn't really feel like muddling through explaining their weird preferences for heavily symbolic short performances and heraldry. Largely because they're so tangled up in Biblical and medieval imagery that, ugh, headache to interpret and understand. Tldr; too lazy to even dedicate myself to what I know to be accurate, let alone check stuff I don't know. You're all welcome.


	4. Hateful Life, First Oppresses and then Soothes

A crowd of advisers were gathered around the table. Rey was sitting at the head of it all, lips pursed, fingers drumming against the wood.   

The presence of the men and women didn't bother her so much, but a notable absence did. She refused to begin until he arrived, and the silence in the room was becoming decidedly awkward.  

The door opened and an extremely hassled looking Mitaka scurried in. Rey had become quite familiar with Lord Ren's squire in the passing weeks, his perpetually worried features a fixture whenever Ren himself was around.  

He knelt and somehow sank into a deep bow all at once. "Your Grace," he said, out of breath. "Lord Ren has sent me in his stead."  

"Rise," Rey commanded. "Why is he not here himself?"  

Mitaka paled, jumping to his feet but remaining bent over like he was trying to make himself smaller. "He- he is occupied with other matters, your Grace."  

Rey chewed on the inside of her cheek and prayed for patience. "Fetch him here."  

"But-"  

" _Now_." 

He backed away frantically, nearly stumbling over his own feet, before he reached the door and fled.  

The uncomfortable silence resumed, only disturbed by an occasional cough or scrape of a chair. Lady Leia looked especially pained.   

When Ren finally arrived, he threw the door open so fiercely that it bounced against the stone wall. He rounded on her, furious, shoulders tense. "There is no _need_ for me to be-" 

The voice that emerged from Rey's throat was one that she barely recognized, cold and clipped. "One kneels before the Queen, Lord Ren."  

There was a beat of pause where he grew even more stiff and everyone shifted nervously. Slowly, painfully, he went down on one knee, lowering his gaze to the floor with such intensity that it looked like he was trying burn a hole through the wood.  

Which, she reflected, perhaps he could. The nature of his gift was still a mystery to her, as was its effect on her own. 

She kept him there for much longer than was strictly necessary. "Rise."  

When he got to his feet, his fists were clenched. "This is a farce. There is no need for me to be here."  

"I disagree," Rey said lightly, gesturing to his spot at the table. "I think you should be present at your own marriage negotiations."  

He sat in a stony silence, glowering around the table as land exchanges and annual incomes were negotiated. It was the sort of petulant behaviour that Rey was starting to expect from him, and the temptation to walk over and lecture him about his attitude was overwhelming. No doubt it would descend into bickering. He seemed to bring out the worst in her. 

The sun slowly sank and candles were lit as the talks continued, contingency plans in the event of her death hammered out with quill and parchment. The discussion swung back and forth between the business aspect of the union of two families and the pragmatic details of planning a wedding. 

A counsellor was scribbling down some notes for the feast when he paused, looking a bit embarrassed. "Your Grace, do you have any preferred witnesses for the consumma-" 

"No consummation ceremony," Ren snapped, voice low and easily carrying across the room. It was the first time he had spoken for the whole afternoon. 

There was an awkward silence.  

Rey looked back and forth between them. "I'm... Sorry, a what?"  

The counsellor now looked utterly mortified. "Well, uh, to ensure the- the legitimacy of a union, your Grace, it can be customary for witnesses to be present for the..." His eyes flicked to Ren. "The completion of your marriage."  

It finally clicked. Rey was Queen of the Realm, Master of the Fates of Men- and in that moment, she desperately wanted nothing more than for the floor to open underneath her and swallow her whole. Preferably without drawing the attention of anyone. This was not something that Luke's preparation had ever mentioned.  

When she finally chanced a glance at Ren, face burning, he seemed to be waiting for some sort of signal from her. And she had apparently given it, because he snapped his gaze back to the counsellor.  

"No consummation ceremony," he said, this time with finality.  

Mercifully, no more was said on the topic.  

\--- 

Some days, she missed St. Jakku.  

Every time she found herself dozing off with that pang of longing, it shocked her. She had been miserable there, treated poorly, never given enough of anything- there was no reason to wish that back.  

But, then, she had mostly been alone.  

Now she was never alone. No matter where she went, she was surrounded by servants, courtiers, men of wealth and power, women of lineage and grace, children who had futures to secure. It was relentless. She wasn’t even left alone to use the privy.  

It set her on edge because trust was a foreign concept. There had been nothing good that came of trust until that day when Luke had arrived at the nunnery. Until he had explained that he had sworn an oath to her parents before they died, had spent years searching for her to assist her with her claim.  

Though it had taken time, she had eventually come to rely on him. But he was the only one that she could relax around, and he was perpetually occupied with matters of state.  

In the meantime, she spent her time around individuals who all wanted something from her, wanted her favour, wanted her blessing. It was bad enough to occasionally push her to the brink of breaking down and screaming. But Rey was an expert at surviving discomfort, so she gritted her teeth and endured.  

Some nights, she dreamt of her parents.  

She had wept as they left, calling after them. They had promised to come back, and for years, she had thought herself abandoned. The grief at learning that they had been slaughtered by Snoke's faction was only barely tempered by the knowledge that they hadn't simply not come back.  

They thought it was a cause worth fighting for. A cause worth dying for. Securing the throne, ensuring the legacy, bringing peace.  

And so she rose every morning and faced the crowds again.  

\--- 

It was two days before the wedding when the news arrived from the north. She knew that something was wrong from the moment that Luke strode through to the throne room while she was still taking audiences, his steps steady and his gaze grim.  

“No more today,” she called out, waving and standing. As the room emptied, she beckoned Luke forward. “What is it?”  

He leaned in to speak quietly. “Messengers have come from the north to warn of an army gathering. They call themselves the Order of the First Saint, and they appear to have a lot of regional support.”  

Rey closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Their aim?”  

“To place Ren on the throne. Without you. They claim…” He grimaced. “They claim no personal grudge against you except that a woman at the head of the country is against God's intended plan.”  

“No personal grudge indeed,” she muttered. “And their leader?”  

“No one knows for sure, but I suspect some of Snoke’s old supporters will have something to do with this.”  

Rey’s shoulders slumped. She had been trying so _hard_ to make peace, to appease everyone, but everyone could not be appeased. “What do you advise?”  

He smiled softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I trust your judgement, your Grace. I will support whatever you decide.”  

Taking a deep breath, she thought back to the mess of the battle and the carnage that she had witnessed in the surrounding area. She remembered how much she hated working with those mercenaries, how depleted the treasury was.  

“After the wedding,” she decided, “I will ride out to meet them. With some of the court. Perhaps they can be negotiated with.”  

It was the first big challenge of her reign. It was only right to face it head-on.  

\--- 

The wedding was conducted with pomp and splendour, and the court celebrated like there was no dark news of a gathering army hanging over them. It was hard to say whether they did so out of confidence of her success or because a party was a party and there was no sense in wasting it. 

Rey barely looked at her intended throughout the whole procession and ceremony. Every time she did, she would feel the ghost of the lingering touch to her cheek and the heat that flared in her chest with it. She _tried_ to draw her attention back to the frustrating drawl and his infuriating sneer. But instead all she could see was wide-open and earnest eyes gazing at her from the darkness, ones that almost seemed afraid of her. 

They knelt together at the front of the cathedral, now both crowned and in ermine. She was strategically positioned ever so slightly above him, but his height made the slight rise of her kneeler completely and irritatingly pointless. She was continually baffled by the size of him, easily towering over the majority of the court. It made even less sense when she considered Lady Leia's diminutive stature. She was so distracted by these thoughts that she almost missed her cue to give her consent. 

When they rose, now husband and wife, they did not touch.  

Whether or not it was a sacrament, it seemed a miracle that a few words could tie them together so irrevocably. Her numb feeling was not shared by the people outside; they cheered when the two of them emerged together, waving little flags and cups of ale. The weather was good, the Queen was beautiful, and there was free beer. London was happy. 

Rey and Ren were three steps out of the cathedral when a soft and rotten apple suddenly landed at Ren's feet, narrowly missing his black boots. He froze, eyes quickly darting to the crowd; before Rey could even address the issue, members of her guard were wrestling a man away, his yelling drowned out by the sounds of the festivities.  

She turned her eyes to him unthinkingly, the first time she had properly examined him since the day began.  

He was stony-faced, eyes narrowed, a muscle jumping in his jaw. When he met her gaze, she felt like a ball of flame flickered between them and went straight to her heart, settling and curling happily at his attention.  

Which was odd. Unaccountable. Annoying.  

He gestured her forward and the procession began the short journey back to Whitehall.  

\--- 

The dancing was joyous and drunken, the food decadent.  

A series of gifts were presented by ambassadors, each more expensive than the last. A portrait depicting her Grandfather's marriage, meant to remind her to follow in his illustrious footsteps; drinking goblets studded with priceless jewels, more for display than for use; a relic of St. Anne, meant to ensure her fruitfulness. She set the last one aside rather quickly, hoping her anxiety and embarrassment weren't showing.  

It was genuinely impossible to divine what _he_ thought. Other than inclining his head and occasionally saying a diplomatic thank you, he was quiet.  

The first time he abruptly leaned towards her, bending down to meet her ear as they sat at the high table, she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Wife,” he murmured, words low in her ear. “I am tired of festivities and would retire soon.”  

She frowned at him. “The day is not yet done. If you would like, you may go, but I expect you ready later.”  

Where she had expected a sneer, he just looked confused. “I... Don’t understand?” 

She didn't understand what _he_ didn't understand. “There is…” she looked down at her cup of wine and took a deep breath. “Still something else to be done, is there not?”  

When she sneaked a glance at him, he was blinking at her owlishly. “I didn’t… I just assumed…”  

It took a moment to realize that he had thought they would not be joining physically as man and wife. That it would be a farce of a marriage and that they would have no issue.  

She had foolishly thought his rejection of the witnessing was for privacy, insisted upon for the sake of her modesty. She had even been a little bit grateful for it. Now, she saw that it was merely intended to deceive.  

The prospect of the event was already nerve-wracking enough, and she had spent the day strained with the effort of not losing her nerve. But where she perhaps should have been relieved that he was planning on leaving her untouched, his dismissal instead made her pride flare. Drawing herself up to her full sitting height- still barely level with his nose- she gave him her best glare. “Do you find me so repellant?”  

“Wha…” She had never seen such genuine bafflement from him.  

“Leave,” she snapped, turning back to face the room. Her neck ached from the crown and her stomach was unsettled from the rich food, the music and the chatter still overwhelmingly loud in her ears. “I will have you summoned when I am ready.”  

\--- 

It was late by the time she made it back to her chambers but she felt agonizingly awake, nervous to the point of distraction.  

Two of her ladies in waiting stayed to help her change into a billowing shift, wiping down her skin with a damp cloth. As a finishing touch, they combed out her hair until it shone in the firelight, and left the room with a few knowing smiles and giggles.  

Kneeling at her small oratory, she let the beads of her worn rosary slide through her fingers, praying for patience and forbearance. And bravery. 

Heart in her throat, she waited.   

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: consummation. (ʃƪ¬‿¬) AKA fic earns its rating. 
> 
> Having to back away from the monarch was a real thing, so I guess people got really good at walking backwards without tripping over things behind them. Women had to kick their dresses out of the way when they had trains. Now THAT is a hella impressive skill. 
> 
> Witnessing consummation: a weird, real, not universally practiced medieval tradition. You'd get some people to watch you do the dirty on your wedding night to ensure the legitimacy of a marriage. It's one way to get your rocks off, I guess. 
> 
> Wiping the monarch's tush after they went to the loo was a hugely coveted honour. People fought over the job. Mostly because it gave you proximity to the King/Queen, and proximity is everything in personal monarchy. 
> 
> Saint Anne is the Virgin Mary's mother and, therefore, the patron saint of motherhood. Her supposed bones are all over the place in Europe. 
> 
> An oratory is a shrine/chapel set aside for private worship, sometimes found in (or adjoining) bedrooms of wealthy medieval homes.
> 
> COMMENTS (ﾉ´∀｀)ﾉ GIVE ME ヾ(-_- )ゞ LIFE (ﾉ≧∀≦)ﾉ


	5. The Many Coloured Flowers of Prosperity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for SMEXY TIMES, as if that's not what you're all here for, yeah that's right I see you

The click of the door was quiet when he arrived.

She set down her rosary and stood to face him, folding her hands delicately at her waist.

The only light was from the dying fire, logs occasionally crackling as they dissolved into showers of sparks. In the shadows, he somehow looked wilder and larger than ever, features thrown half into dark. He was in a simple robe, tied at the waist, the rich fabric embroidered with thread that glittered in the dim light.

There was a beat before he started to go down on one knee, and she waved her hand. “No, there's no need for that. Not any more.” She took a deep breath and stepped closer to him, lifting her feet out of her slippers and letting her toes brush the fine rug.

He straightened and tilted his head a little, face still inscrutable.

God’s bones, but this was awkward. “Would you take some wine?”

“No, thank you,” he said immediately, voice low and quiet.

She folded her hands again, clenching her fingers tightly to try and stop them from shaking. “Did you really think this was to be a marriage without any children?”

His lips- those impossibly full lips- pressed together a bit tighter. “I had assumed you would find the thought disagreeable. I'm fairly certain that you find _me_ disagreeable.”

She snorted. “Since when has that mattered in political unions?”

There was a moment of silence. “I don't want to bed someone who hates me. I’ve done a lot of things, but I'd like to draw the line there.”

 _Hate_ was an awfully strong word. Irritating, yes. Infuriating, maybe. “I don't hate you.”

Another log shuddered into the fire, flaring brightly for a moment. It illuminated his eyes, dark and steady, almost mournful. “I ought to hate you.”

“What?” Not only was that offensive, it was probably treasonous.

“I was the heir,” he said quietly. “I spent almost two brutal decades under Snoke, enduring his vicious training to be King. You emerge from nowhere with an army that no one has heard of, sweep into the city, and just like that- I'm reduced to a… _Breeding stud_ , spared only because of my estranged Mother and bloodline.”

She vaguely considered pointing out that this was something women routinely endured, but decided against it. Taking another few soft steps, she tilted her head back to try and meet his eyes. Perhaps she should've been afraid, but she wasn't. He'd had plenty of chances to do her harm, and he hadn't- in fact, he had gone out of his way to prevent it. “Do you hate me?”

“I should,” he rasped.

“But do you?”

Rain began to patter against the window panes, filling the room with a steady drumming sound even as they were silent. Finally, finally, he breathed out the word, barely a whisper. “No.”

“I don't hate you either,” she said, reaching out gently and taking his hand. There was that instant flare again, tickling under her skin, but this time she didn't let go.

He looked down at her hand, whispering into the air almost like he wasn't aware that she was listening. “I should hate you and instead you terrify and blind me- I can barely think when you're around, and the thought of you coming to harm is unbearable.” He twisted their hands until her palm was up and brought it to his cheek, cradling his face against her fingers. “The power that rolls off you is incredible- it muddies my senses.” The words were reverent, almost like a prayer, and she didn't dare breathe as he slid her hand along his jawline and pressed his lips to her palm.

There was a heat building in her stomach, but she wasn't quite sure how to proceed. “I… don't know what to do,” she admitted, a little shy at the confession.

That seemed to break the trance. He blinked at her, brow furrowing. “Don't know- what do you mean, you don't know? How do you spend your life living as a- as a god-knows- _what_ and then spend two years with an army and not know?”

She yanked her hand away from his face like it burned, a blush growing in her cheeks. “I was in a nunnery, if you must know, and under the protection of your uncle after that.”

His eyebrows rose in disbelief. “A nunnery? You went to leading an army from a nunnery?”

“I was there for most of my life,” she admitted, gritting out the words.

“So you truly are a maid, then.”

“A- of course I am!” she said, spluttering with indignation.

He shrugged. “Lots of women aren't.”

“I had other things to do!”

He put his hands to his face and rubbed his forehead like he was trying to stave off a headache. “What do you know?”

“Not… much.” She had seen some mercenaries bringing whores back to the camp before Luke knocked heads together about keeping that away from her eyes.

“Not much,” he repeated hoarsely. “You insist on this happening and you don't even know what it is. With me. An enemy until barely a few months ago- are you mad?”

“I want to do this properly! There's a risk of annulment if we don't, and I can’t have that- and this union needs an heir-”

“Look,” he said, almost placating, “we don't have to do this tonight.”

She squared her shoulders again, indignant. “I won't have a-”

“Oh for God’s sake,” he snarled, irritation back, “it can happen but it doesn't have to happen _right now_ , I'm trying to be considerate!”

Again, as with that cursed circle, the facts shifted and she saw it from his perspective. Forbidding the witnessing. Retiring early after the feast. Being so cautious.

It was care for her comfort, not avoidance.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly feeling rather small.

“You,” he snapped, pointing a finger in her face, “you are _infuriating_. It's like you deliberately go out of your way to misundersta-”

“What…” she said, interrupting him quietly. “What do you want?” She unconsciously reached out and grabbed at the hem of his sleeve, running the soft fabric through her fingers. “Are you opposed to the act? With me?”

His words died in his throat. Staring at her hand, he ran his tongue across his lower lip, curling his fingers into a fist. As she watched, his gaze moved over her and she was suddenly rather aware of how thin her shift was.

“I am not opposed,” he finally said, voice low. It sent a little thrill through her, making her curl her toes. 

And it was good. It was a start. “Then show me.”

His shoulders were rising and falling slightly as he breathed, and she kept her eyes trained there, nervous about looking into his face. He wasn't wrong- they could wait- but she had a sneaking suspicion that he _was_ wrong if he thought it would get easier with time. They were to spend their days surrounded by crowds of other people. It wasn't like there were many opportunities to build… Intimacy. If they delayed, it would likely only get more awkward.

His fingers ghosted along her jawline. “This may hurt,” he said, tone soft but warning.

She nodded. She knew that much, at least.

“You're certain? Absolutely?”

Nodding again, she turned her head and pressed a delicate kiss to his fingertips.

She couldn't tell if the sound was her heart in her chest or the rain pounding against the windows when he cradled the base of her head and leaned down, pressing his mouth to the curve of her neck.  

It was soft and sweet as he worked his way along, lips tender against her shoulder as he pushed a bit of the shift aside. She hadn't expected such sweetness. Nor did she expect that all of her skin would immediately feel like it was laced with lightening, crackling with a tense energy that demanded sating- _more, more, more,_ it sang, insistent and heady.

He suddenly scooped her up easily, one arm under her back and the other under her knees. It was three quick steps to the bed, where he set her down gently, the mattress sagging a little as she sank into it.

"You're sure?" he asked, one more time. 

"Yes," she said, almost sighing the word. 

Keeping his eyes firmly on her face, as if waiting for her to stop him, he put his hands to the straps of her shift. Slowly, achingly slowly, he pulled them down, each brush of their skin bringing that thrumming energy even closer to the surface. Her gift kept leaping to the forefront, surging clearer and stronger than she had ever experienced before, disorienting in its urgency. 

Each slip of the soft fabric against her skin felt torturous, tickling and slight. She watched as his gaze travelled down, to the peaks of her breasts as they became exposed, small and rounded. When he slid a hand up, it was barely enough to fit his large palm, but he seemed to like it all the same- and when he started to gently massage the skin, oh, she liked it too. She let out a slow hum and arched into his palm, smiling as he made a satisfied sound. Perhaps this could be a pleasant experience after all. A marriage was a marriage, and perhaps they could make the best of it. 

The shift went off down to her stomach and he leaned down to press more kisses to her skin, starting at the base of her neck and working down, down past her lines of her ribs and her navel, further and further with that same disarming tenderness.

When the shift went past her hips, he easily tugged it off the rest of the way, letting it fall to the floor. His fingers traced her hip bones and she watched as his nostrils flared, the breathing through his nose becoming deeper and more pronounced.

To her surprise, he drew her legs up and began to press those soft kisses down her thighs, sliding closer and closer to the curls that nestled there.

“What…” she mumbled, pushing up on her elbows to look down in confusion. It was nice, but she definitely didn’t remember that from seeing the mercenaries and their whores. "What are you doing?" 

“Trust me,” he said, running his hands along her legs. “This will make it easier.”

 _Easier_ seemed like the wrong word when he finally reached the ache, the touch of his mouth between her legs an agonizingly delicious torture. Each swirl of his tongue pushed more noises from her throat, little mewls that were embarrassing and impossible to control all at once. This was a whole new repertoire of sensation that she didn't even know existed, a shocking and wonderful companion to other things that were lovely and nice- like honey iced buns, warm sunlight on skin, the sweet clear song of a bird in the early morning.

She felt the blunt intrusion of a finger, long and steady, and she gasped into the darkness. “I-”

“Shh,” he coaxed, his finger starting to move, doing things that she'd never felt before, touching parts of her previously unknown. With some sort of crooking motion, he brushed against a place that made her arch and gasp, his mouth still working in tight circles that were making her tingle when he wasn't speaking. “Shh, just be calm.”

But calmness was impossible and she was vaguely aware that the room had gotten brighter, the fire burning higher even though the logs were almost gone.

She wanted to beg, but she didn't know what for. “Please,” she managed, “please, please, please-”

“Patience.” The smug tone had returned and she vaguely wanted to kick him in the back, but- then he might stop. That would be unbearable. 

She reached down and wound her hands into his long hair instead, pulling a little in revenge. To her surprise, that just made him groan, his movements becoming more enthusiastic, making her writhe in delight. That _tongue_ , who knew it could do such magical things? When she tried it again, he nearly lifted her off the bed, using one hand to cup her behind and tilt her hips up. She hissed when she felt the intrusion become a little more- another finger, she realized foggily- trying to twist her hips against him.

Oh, something was building, higher and higher as she squirmed, working to a crescendo as her voice rose. A distant part of her brain tutted at the knowledge that he clearly had experience with this, but the rest of her couldn't find the energy to care. The only thing that mattered was his warm mouth and the twist of his fingers and the thudding pulse of her hips, her feet twisting against the covers and her hands grasping at his soft hair.

When she wailed, it was plaintive and wanton, prompting a satisfied groan from him against her tender skin. Her mind went white as the shuddering spasms hit, the flames in the grate suddenly roaring to life with a vengeance on the other side of the room. The sensation rippled through her body and reached every crevice, dissolving her bones, pounding in her heart- so many sensations that should have been painful but instead were better than anything she could imagine. Regardless of how long it actually lasted, it felt like an age, her fingers tightening in his hair so tightly that she was sure she must be causing him pain.

When he pulled away, she could do nothing but pant at him, eyes wide. It was darker again, the fire low, and he was more shadow than figure when he pulled his robe away.

She was struck anew by how ridiculously broad his pale shoulders were, just as impressive without armour. The muscles in his arms made her mouth go a little dry as he crawled up over her and settled his hips between her legs, bracing his arms on either side of her head.

“Nice?” he asked, cockiness probably at least a little earned at this point.

She just hummed in the back of her throat, chest still heaving. One of his hands moved down to the mound of her breast, caressing again, pinching his finger around her nipple until she whimpered.

“So beautiful," he breathed, voice ragged, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She blinked up at him, a bit taken aback by the compliment, and saw that he was biting his lip. "I'll try to go slowly," he murmured, and a little bubble of anxiety returned in her stomach. It was mixed with anticipation, but she was nervous nonetheless. 

She felt the nudge of _it_ between her legs. She'd seen enough of them, given that men never seemed at all embarrassed about waving them around- pissing on street corners, bathing in rivers. But this one was stiff and felt much too big to fit. Ruefully, she twisted her mouth a little. Of course it would be big. He was a bloody giant. Stupid enormous man. Stupid, rather frustratingly handsome, enormous man- 

The thought was wiped from her mind as he breached her just a little, even the few inches making her tense in pain. Her hands flew up and she gripped his shoulders tightly, digging her nails into the skin as she hissed a deep breath. 

He groaned and kept pushing, and oh, there was so much, _too_ much, how could it possibly all fit inside her, but it had to- she had wanted this, still wanted this- but oh God there was still more and how could there still be more and oh, _oh_ - 

Finally, his hips bumped against hers and she drew a ragged breath, face scrunched in pain.

“Rey,” he said, panting a little as he cupped her face. “Rey. Try and relax.”

Her name. It was the first time he'd ever said her name, and he was still whispering it, over and over, like he was trying to soothe a nervous beast.

It worked, its calming effect  hypnotic; easing back into the pillows, she unclenched her hands, trying to spread her legs a little wider and ease the burning, loosening the muscles in her stomach.

“Breathe,” he instructed, holding still. She could see him starting to shake a little; apparently, this was costing some effort.

So she did, taking deep breath after deep breath until the ache eased, the pain gradually receding. Still watching her face, he slowly withdrew and pushed in again, the effort of it less pronounced this time. With each thrust, she became a little bit more able to meet him, eventually pushing up to wrap her legs around his waist. That helped a great deal, the press of their chests warm and pleasing as she twined her arms around his back.

Having their bodies so close together was pushing her gift to frantic levels, the pulse of it buzzing higher and higher. It crackled between her fingertips as she flexed her arms around him, desperately trying to find a target. It was like being so tightly in contact had created a loop where they fed into each other, the effort of it building and building as they rocked.

He reached up for one of her hands and twined his fingers between hers, easing the sensation. “Don't be afraid,” he murmured, breath hot against her ear. “I feel it too.”

“But what do I _do_ ,” she managed, frustrated, gritting her teeth. Nothing had prepared her for this.

“Accept it,” he coaxed. “Stop trying to be so tightly controlled.”

“But-” she gasped as he pushed her leg up against her chest, the new angle deeper and fuller. “Luke always said-”

“Jesus,” he muttered, “I do _not_ want to be thinking about my uncle right now.”

She almost giggled. When she craned her neck sideways, she was shocked to find a glimmer of a smile in his eyes too- heavens above, did the man possess a sense of humour after all?

“Truly,” he insisted, stroking her cheek and exhaling against her shoulder. “Just… Breathe.”

She closed her eyes.

It was like sinking into a still pond of water, weightless and suspended.

But the stillness was temporary, shattered when she was gripped by a whirlpool of emotions, and it took a moment to realise that they weren't her own. Fear, tenderness, frustration, curiosity- all about  _herself_. There were other things too, a long and reaching history of neglect and loneliness, an ache born of grasping ambition, a longing for respect. Things she recognised, a strange mirror of her own experiences. 

And pleasure. Oh, so much pleasure. His strangled groan made her think that he was now dipping in that pool as well, and she suddenly just knew that if she just tilted her hips a little higher, they could both feel even better-

“Holy Mother of God,” he hissed, fingers tensing tightly on her waist.

Oh, it was perfect, the dull pain long gone and just replaced by throbbing need. “Kylo,” she breathed, “oh, Kylo-”

The whispered promise of his name made him let out a ragged breath, speeding up the snap of his hips, like it was a signal that he had been waiting for. She could hardly tell where she ended and he began, bodies entwined and minds enmeshed, a breathy wail escaping her mouth as his pleasure became her own.

This- _this_ was definitely not what she had expected. She doubted that anyone could have predicted this.

Her thighs were starting to shake with exertion and his hands were still running along her waist, caressing, coaxing. She could hear his groans low in her ear, gradually changing to a panting staccato of desperate sounds, mixed with the crackle of the fire and the drum of the rain against the window panes. The covers were soft against her back and everything was so sharp and clear, the shades of colour in shadow more vibrant than what she normally saw in the light of day. She was more alive than she ever had been before, even more than the heat and adrenaline of battle, even more than the grief of loss or the joy of triumph. She could _feel_ every inch of the room, beyond and into the stone corridors, through the great hall where servants slept and to the damp earth of the gardens where plants climbed towards the dark sky far above.

With a few long, last thrusts, the muscles in his back bunched tightly under her hands. His hair brushed against her face as he moaned and somehow- _somehow_ \- she felt his crest, both in her chest and between her legs, curling against him tightly until she felt the warm trickle of moisture slick against her thighs.

Trapped together, they breathed as one, hearts beating in synchrony. Just when she was starting to think she would be crushed under his weight, he pushed up on his arms and rolled off her with a grunt.

And just like that, the spell was abruptly broken.

As they lay side by side, residual awkwardness descended like a cloud. They were two strangers again, silently taking in the dark and the drumming rain.

She was almost worried to touch him again. Would it make the bond spark back to life? Could they ever brush together without it burning her skin and driving her to distraction? She could swear that she felt the flickering connection even though they weren't touching- had she been prepared for this?

Unintended consequences came in many forms. Using her gift, she gently nudged out to search for him, only to find that he was now as closed off and inscrutable as ever. So much for that. 

Moving as little and as quietly as possible, she shuffled under the blankets, seeking warmth as the cold from the stone walls gradually seeped into her skin. There was still a low and painful ache between her legs, and she briefly wondered if there would be blood on the sheets tomorrow. 

As she settled into sleep, a stark realization drifted through her mind: for all their touching, they had not kissed once.  

\---

There was a discreet knock in the early hours of the morning. As Rey blinked and raised her head, trying to adjust to the dim light, Ren slid his legs over the side of the bed. Giving her a stiff nod- she was fairly certain that he did, anyway, it was quite dark- he pulled on his discarded robe and walked towards her door.

She heard the quiet murmur of another male voice. _Mitaka_ , her brain supplied. When he was gone, she let herself fall back into warm slumber. The bed still smelled like him.

The next time she awoke, two of her ladies were standing respectfully at the side of the bed, faces carefully blank.

Rey slid out of the covers and stood, automatically going through the motions as they helped her dress. Initially, her nakedness in front of others had been a source of anxiety and stress, but that was gradually easing with time. It was her new reality now, and like with so much else, she would simply have to adjust.

It took a little while for her to shake off the haze of sleep and notice that something was off.

For one thing, none of her ladies would meet her eyes directly. Whenever she turned, she felt as though conversations stopped and smiles immediately disappeared, everyone studiously avoiding drawing attention to themselves. When her back was turned, however, she could've sworn that she heard muffled giggling.

It couldn't just be her imagination. When her hair was finally elaborately twined in its net and her gown was laced and draped properly, she walked to a window and gestured one of the more friendly and welcoming ladies over.

“Jessika,” she said quietly. “What's going on?”

Jessika immediately bobbed into an unnecessary half curtesy, looking exquisitely embarrassed. “Nothing, your Grace.”

Rey arched an eyebrow and let the silence drag on for a bit.

“It…” Jessika relented, “it's nothing that should be your concern, your Grace. It's beneath you.”

“Jessika.”

Jessika seemed to be able to look anywhere but her eyes. “There, um, there were guards posted outside your door last night, as always…”

Rey tapped her foot impatiently. “And?”

The girl was blushing now. “They, ah, may have heard things, and they may have relayed that to the kitchen servants this morning, and…” she trailed off meaningfully, rocking her head back and forth.

God’s teeth. Rey was abruptly sucked back into the memory of lying on her back, writhing, wailing out in unthinking pleasure-

Just as she was trying to decide whether it was better to ignore this information or go ahead and die from humiliation, there was another bang at her door. Finn stepped inside, his shoulders squared, and all of her attendants stopped to shoot the handsome guard their prettiest smiles.

“There's something that I feel you should see, your Grace,” he said stiffly, his brow furrowed.

Rey gathered her skirts and walked towards him. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said immediately, “but… I think it's easier to show you than to try and explain.”

With her attendants chattering around her and Finn leading the way, they briskly walked through chilly corridors. Courtiers and servants sank into obeisance as they passed, the crowds parting like Moses before the Red Sea.

When they reached the entrance to her private garden, Finn opened the door and gestured for her to look outside.

As she stepped over the threshold, she immediately knew that what she beheld should have been impossible.

For in the crisp autumn air, despite the promise of approaching winter and the definite change of the seasons, every single flower was in full and riotous bloom.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting more magic-y and less history-y the more I write. Oh well. HAVE SOME MAGIC SEX I GUESS THAT'S A TAG NOW
> 
> Medieval underwear: one of those great mysteries. There are a lot of great theories, but no solid answers. I took the lazy route and went with no undies at all, because hey, they would just get in the way. 
> 
> [**Medieval swearing is great**](http://www.medievalists.net/2013/11/by-gods-bones-medieval-swear-words). God's teeth! God's bones! 
> 
> Kings and Queens almost always had separate chambers and slept apart. They would visit each other for… Coital purposes, huehuehuehue. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> In many palaces (at least in England, anyway, that's where most of my knowledge is), servants would clear the tables away in the Great Hall and sleep there in bedrolls. More people, more warmth. 
> 
> I feel like I keep harping on Kylo's size but keep in mind that the average height for this time has been estimated as being somewhere between 5'6'' and 5'8'' for men, he literally would have towered over EVERYONE


	6. You are Malevolent, Well-Being is in Vain

Travelling at the back of a procession was a nightmare. The pace was grinding, hampered by those on foot and the slow drag of wagons, always necessary for carrying supplies. The number of horses up ahead meant that you had to watch your feet carefully, lest you misstep and end up ankle deep in horse shit.

The front of the procession, though. The front was glorious.

Rey would periodically spur her horse into a gallop, sprinting ahead just because she could. After the months of decorum in London, it felt deliriously good to be back in trousers, riding freely without a net over her braids. Cheeks flushed from the crisp air, she would then turn and canter back to the group, to where Ren was riding his own massive black charger.

“I still have reservations about your attire,” he called out, the fourth or fifth time that she repeated this.

“I know,” she replied cheerfully. She’d seen his expression when she came out to ride, on the very first morning that they left London to confront the unrest bubbling in the North. “I refuse to ride in a dress. Too uncomfortable.”

His brow furrowed. “I remain a little put off by the idea of the entire country ogling my wife’s buttocks.”

“Yes, well,” she said, “They’re all ogling yours, and you don’t see me complaining.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, to her shock, he threw his head back and let out a bark of laughter. It was the first time she’d ever heard such a thing from him, and judging by the stunned faces of their immediate retinue, she wasn’t the only one. It was a rich and deep sound, and she immediately wanted to hear it again.

“Touché,” he murmured, once she was riding beside him again. “I suppose you’ll also be pleased that we’re making camp for the next few nights rather than staying in a proper manor, hellion that you are.”

She _was_ pleased. The manors were small enough that she usually had to sleep in a room cramped with her few female attendants brave enough to come along and a handful of guards on bedrolls on the floor. As much as it made her flush to even think it, she missed his nighttime company. “It will be good to not cause any inconvenience for once.”

“You’re the Queen. It’s your prerogative to cause inconvenience.”

It was such a… _Ren_ way to think. Rolling her eyes, she stood in her stirrups and prepared to gallop forward again.

\---

It was as nice as she’d hoped to be alone with him again. Given her status, a proper tent was erected with a canopy and carpets unrolled over the ground; it was a far cry from the tiny thing that she’d crawled under when travelling with Luke.

They even had a roughly constructed bed that someone had gone to the trouble of packing and carrying. She probably should’ve been annoyed at the waste, but instead she was just glad that she didn’t have to sleep on the ground.

She pushed herself against Ren’s side once they were both under the covers, nuzzling her nose to his shoulder. The two weeks of travelling had given them a lot of time to talk during the day, and everyone had learned to follow at a respectful short distance to give them a little privacy. Even if they didn’t speak of anything of great importance- he shared his knowledge about the localities they passed through, giving her little snippets of information about his childhood, and she spoke in bits of her time at the nunnery- it meant that the evenings were much less awkward. If nothing else, they were no longer strangers.

“Wife,” he said, with the smallest hint of a smile that she was learning to detect in his voice even when he was stern. “Is that an invitation?”

“I am cold; you’re warm,” she murmured.

Reaching to her shoulders, he tugged her shift down her arms, leaning up over top of her. She sighed happily as she felt his hands move to slide up her thighs, his lips pressing to the swell of her breasts. “I suppose I could warm you up.”

Yes, his company was nice. Very nice. She had missed this more than she cared to admit, and falling asleep afterwards, sated and worn out with his scent around her, was strangely comforting.

Morning came too soon, light filtering through the cracks in the tent. After the guilty pleasure of simply dressing herself in a tunic and trousers, she left to find breakfast.

“Good morning, your Grace,” one of the men called out. He was chewing happily on an apple, and she frowned at it as she passed. Where had he found such fruit out of season?

He wasn’t the only one. Practically everyone seemed to have an apple in hand. A few were roasting them over the fire. Eyebrows rising higher and higher, she went to Finn, who already had two apple cores littered at his feet. “Captain, where did the fruit come from?”

“Strangest thing,” he said, chewing with his mouth open. “All of the apple trees in the forest bore fruit overnight. No one can explain it, but we’re enjoying it nonetheless. They’re delicious.” Leaning over, he reached into a bag and pulled out another one, holding it out to her.

She accepted it with a sigh, trying not to blush too hard from the knowledge that she _could_ explain this, after a fashion. When she bit into the apple, the juice filled her mouth, the sweetest thing she had tasted in weeks.

\---

The day’s riding took them through a small village. The people came out to watch them pass, women and children waving shyly. An alderman stood at the gate to greet them with a deep bow, his robes a bit tattered but nicer than anything that the other villagers had nonetheless. It was clearly a position of pride.

Rey dismounted to greet him properly, accepting his kneeling. “You may rise.”

“My Queen,” he said, “it is an honour to have you pass through these parts. We have been ravaged by war and we long for peace and prosperity.”

“I aim to provide it,” Rey said, smiling at him.

“The justices of the peace have not been through here in a while because of the unrest, and we have the issue of individuals awaiting judgement. I realize it is far beneath you, but we are struggling with the cost of imprisoning them while they await trial. Would you be willing to resolve the issue?”

She glanced back at Ren a bit nervously. This was not something that she had addressed before, and her knowledge of local laws and customs were… Rather incomplete.

Ren nodded from his horse. “Her Grace would be happy to address it.”

Leaving most of the procession outside the gates, she went through with Ren and a small group of their retinue to the clearing at the centre of the village. The prisoners were fetched; it turned out that there were only two of them, an old woman and a middle-aged man.

Rey tried to draw herself to her most stately height. “Their crimes?”

The alderman cleared his throat. “The woman confessed to cheating her buyers by lacing the flour of her bread with sawdust. The man was caught poaching on land that is not his own, and killed at least three deer.”

“Right.” Rey rubbed her hands together a bit anxiously. “What is the common punishment for these crimes?”

“The cheating is usually levied a fine. She cannot pay, so it will mean indentured work until it can be paid off.”

That seemed to be fairly reasonable, in the grand scheme of things. Nodding, she squared her shoulders. “Her name?”

“Jenet Karr.”

“Jenet Karr,” Rey repeated, “by the power vested in me by God as your Queen and based on your confession, you are sentenced to pay a fine to atone for your crimes.” She turned to the alderman. “How much is the fine?”

“Nine shillings.”

That was a lot of money, far more than the average person could ever hope to make even if family pitched in. Clearing her throat, she turned back to the woman. “You are sentenced to pay four shillings and sixpence- I have halved the fine as a show of mercy, and in confidence that you will not repeat your crime.”

The crowd seemed pleased by this. The old woman blubbered for a while before being led away, where she was immediately clutched at by a few smaller children.

Rey turned to the man. “The punishment for poaching?”

“Execution, your Grace.”

Her blood stilled in her veins. “What?”

“It is his third offence, and the evidence was indisputable. The law is clear.”

“Please,” the man said, addressing Rey directly, his voice ragged. “Your Grace, please. We were starving. I was only doing it to feed my children.”

Feeling a little bit of panic well up, Rey looked around. The mood of the villagers was unsympathetic; clearly, they had all been hungry and not all of them had resorted to poaching.

She didn’t want to execute this man. She understood hunger and how it warped the mind. But she couldn’t simply pardon him- she was too new into her reign to leave a trail of discontent in her wake. The panic was starting to bubble in her throat, making her silent as she looked back and forth between the alderman and the prisoner, trapped in place by indecision.

There was a shuffle and she heard Ren dismount from his horse, walking to stand beside her. “Hold him,” he gestured to a few of the guards, who promptly took the man and held his arms out.

“Wha-” Rey barely managed before Ren drew his sword in a smooth movement, lifted it over his head, and brought it down over the man’s wrist. In a nauseating crunch of bone and flesh, the hand tore away, moments before the man began to scream hysterically.

Sickened, Rey gaped, staring at the hand that now lay on the ground. It was seeping blood into the mud, the dirty nails sinking into the soft ground.

Ren sheathed his sword calmly and nodded towards the guards. “The crime is punished. Take him away.”

“You monster,” the man screamed, his shrieking suddenly forming into nearly incoherent words. “You monster- you child killer, everyone knows it, child killer _child killer_ -”

The rest of the sounds were muffled when one of the guards clapped a glove over the man’s mouth, briskly dragging him away in jerks towards one of the alleys. To be delivered to his family, no doubt.

When Ren turned to her, his face was stony. “I suggest we move on.”

Shaking a little, her outrage at his nonchalance finally helped her find her tongue. “How _dare_ you do that without my approval-”

His eyes flicked to glance at the watching villagers. They were all clearly eager to see the famous Kylo Ren being berated by his wife. “It was that or execution.”

“There had to be another way-”

Narrowing his eyes, he spat out the words. “In order to rule, sometimes you must do distasteful things.”

Silenced by the bluntness of his words, she stared after him as he walked back to his horse, swinging up into the saddle and spurring it back towards the rest of their party.  

\---

Much later in the day, when the sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, her curiosity finally couldn’t be restrained. He had been riding alone a little further ahead and she cantered up to meet him, slowing when they were side by side. “Why do they say that of you?”

He kept his gaze trained firmly ahead. “Say what?”

“Child-killer.”

She saw a muscle in his jaw working and his nostrils flared a touch. “They believe I killed the Princes that Snoke kept under his protection.”

“Did you?”

He gave her a glance filled with disdain. “Don’t be absurd.”

\---

It was a blessed relief to reach camp, to be able to rest on something moderately comfortable. Her short time at court had softened her; a few days of hard riding should not have been this difficult. And yet, her back still ached, and she sighed with happiness when Jessika helped her apply a hot poultice.

When it came time to sleep, she stayed on her side of the bed, still a little chilled by the events of the day. Before long, she felt his hand trace the small of her back, leaving a little trail of warmth through her shift. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she said into the darkness. “If I make any more fruit blossom out of season, the locals will burn me for a witch.”

He snorted. “I’d like to see them try.”

“Truly, though.” It was bothering her enough that she was able to look past her conflicted feelings about the afternoon. “Is that going to happen every time?”

“I suspect not,” he said. “Not if we can find a balance.”

She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, so she wasn’t sure what to make of that. “A balance?”

He was silent for a long moment, thoughtful. Finally, he shifted up to sit, beckoning her to rise as well. “Follow me.”

Lighting a small lantern, he passed over her thick fur-lined cloak. Pulling it tightly around her shoulders, she let him take her hand and lead her out of the tent.

“Your Grace?” Finn’s voice came out of the darkness, alert and concerned. She couldn’t ask for a more attentive Captain, and she felt a swell of affection for him.

Ren, however, just sounded annoyed. “Stand down,” he snapped. “Just going for a short walk, we won’t be out of view of the camp.”

There was a tense silence and she could see Finn’s face, flickering in the firelight, slide into a frown. “I don’t know if that-”

“I am your Prince,” Ren said, now almost a snarl. “Stand _down_.”

Reluctantly, Finn stepped back, and Ren started moving away towards the edge of the camp. Rey had half a mind to tell Ren off for being rude, if it weren’t for the fact that it would almost definitely have no effect whatsoever. The thought made her sigh. 

When they reached the boundary, he took a few more steps until they were engulfed in the wood. “Here,” he said, gesturing forward. “See this?”

“A tree,” she said, gazing up at the dark boughs. The moon was bright enough that little bits of light flickered through the branches, silver against the ground.

“An apple tree,” he corrected. “Hold your hand against the trunk.”

She did as he bade, curious.

“Now, let your gift flow through it.”

She concentrated, feeling her connection with the ground, the rustle of the leaves below. Drawing it up slowly, carefully, until he reached forward and took her hand. In a burst of strength, the tree suddenly crackled to life, new leaves spiralling out as full and solid apples grew at an impossible speed.

She stepped back to look up at her work. “Is this what you wanted to show me? I already knew about-”

“No,” he said, passing her the lamp. “Now watch.”

Alone, he stepped forward, and pressed his palm to the tree as she had done.

The effect was instantaneous. She felt the warp of power and the leaves immediately began to shrivel and die; as she watched, the apples withered until they rotted and dropped. She had to step back to avoid being hit by them as they fell.

“What…” she said, bewildered. “What did you do?”

Gingerly flexing his fingers, he craned his neck up to look at the canopy of the forest. “I used my gift.”

“Did Snoke teach you that?” It seemed strange that someone would desire this, this ability to leech the life from something.

“Did Luke teach you yours?”

“Well…” He hadn’t, not really. Rey’s patch of garden at the nunnery had always flourished even in times of drought, the patients that she watched always healing a little better, a little faster. That was long before she was aware of her gift. “No. I was as I am, and he taught me to control it.”

She could see his outline nod. “And so it was for me. Snoke merely taught me how to aim it accurately, how to direct it where I wanted and keep it from harming those that I didn’t want to harm.”

The implication that he could’ve hurt people accidentally made her feel a twinge of pity. “So when you said- balance…”

“I suspect,” he said quietly, “that if we can figure out how to share these two forces, we can…” She could’ve sworn that he smiled a little. “ _Consort_ without causing quite so much disruption to the local wildlife.”

“And how would that work?”

“We’ll have to find out.” Taking her hand gently, he led her back to the camp. 

As they walked, she couldn’t help but wonder about the applications for his gift. The way that Snoke had no doubt used and abused it. The way that it matched up with the whispers and stories that she kept hearing, ones that contradicted the gentle way he held her. And yet, and yet…

_In order to rule, sometimes you must do distasteful things._

When they reached the tent, she waved him ahead. “I’ll be right in. I just want to confirm something with the Captain for tomorrow’s plans.” Alone, she went to the fire and found Finn, perched and alert like he always was. She genuinely wasn’t sure when he slept. “Finn, may I have a word?”

“Your Grace,” he said immediately, jumping to attention and following her to a short distance away from the rest of the men.

“Do you have a way to get in contact with Dameron?” She glanced around a bit furtively. “I trust you implicitly, and I’m not sure how many others I can vouch for.”

For some reason, he seemed to be flustered by her question. His gaze immediately dropped to her feet, and if she hadn’t been so hampered by the dark, she could’ve sworn that he was blushing. “I, uh- yes, I… I think I could find a way to reach him. Uh. With relative speed.” 

“Then I need you to pass on this message,” she said, leaning in towards him. “Tell him that I want the issue of the Princes investigated, and that he’s to leave no stone unturned. I will pay all of his expenses.”

“Your Grace,” Finn said hesitantly, “forgive me if I speak out of turn-”

She held up a hand. “I always want to hear what you have to say, Captain. Remember?”

He gave her a small smile. “I only want to remind you that others before you have searched for answers for that question, to no avail.”

“Then tell him that I have faith in him.” Drawing her cloak closer, she turned to go back to her tent. “And that I would know the truth.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeaaah StormPilot if you squint, like, super hard! Cuties. 
> 
> If you have things that you’d like to see in this fic, please feel free to suggest them. Comments can (and have) changed my fics before, from the introduction of characters and little scenes to whole plot diversions if they take my fancy. Although, if you don’t like commenting and just want to read and be done with it NO JUDGEMENT HERE, God knows I do that often enough (Bad Hrotsvitha! Bad!).
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Not many history notes for this chapter. For money: around the 14th-15th century, it cost something in the range of 5 shillings a year to rent a cottage, so a fine of 9 shillings is a LOT, to put it in context. Hand-chopping was also a genuine punishment, sigh. 
> 
> Oh, and monarchical visits were a massive fucking nightmare for the nobility, because they’d bring loads of people and you’d have to feed and house them all and get nothing in return. Monarchs loved it, of course, because _they_ weren’t paying to feed and house all those people. People used to be terrified of visits from Elizabeth I because she’d occasionally stick around so long that families went bankrupt. Yikes.


	7. I Bemoan the Wounds of Fortune with Weeping Eyes

The day began with threatening clouds low in the sky, the rumble of rain not too far in the distance. The camp was packed up at a record speed, with each and every individual eager to get moving. Their nights of sleeping rough were nearly over; they were within a day’s journey to Lady Kanata’s manor, a stronghold where they had summoned envoys of the Order of the First Saint for a parlay. Not at the manor proper, of course. But it was close enough to the assigned location that it made for an ideal base.

Back on the road, Rey found herself riding with Finn, enjoying a companionable silence. His steady presence was a relaxing and easy counterpart when it came to the rather... Intense presence of her husband, and she found herself appreciating the change of pace.

Towards the middle of the afternoon, they passed another small hamlet in the distance, little columns of smoke rising into the sky from the cluster of cottages.

“Finn,” she asked, staring at the thatched roofs and fields that rolled out beyond the homesteads, encouraging evidence of livelihood and prosperity. The land was rich and fertile in these parts. “What is the normal punishment for poaching?”

He gave her a bit of an odd look. “Branding, sometimes. A fine, if the Lord is feeling lenient. But after the first time, almost always execution.”

“Does that not seem harsh?”

“Of course. But poaching almost always occurs on land owned by the nobility, and they aren’t generally known for mercy, Your Grace.” His mouth twisted a little as he spoke. She only knew a little bit about Finn's background, but she knew enough to be aware that he wasn't from landed nobility.

“If…” she tightened her grip on the reigns and moved her gaze to the road ahead. “If it was a third offence, is chopping off a hand a merciful response?”

“Comparatively,” he replied, head tilted curiously. Having stayed out with the men to keep an eye on things when they passed through the last village, he hadn’t seen the incident with the poacher- and clearly, no one had told him about it. “If it can ever be considered merciful, it would probably be then. At least this way he might still be able to make some use of himself and feed his family.”

Rey thinned her lips.

“Is there something on your mind, your Grace?”

Sighing, she shook her head, unwilling to talk about it. Once again, she had overreacted- perhaps a bit too harshly, and she didn’t necessarily feel like sharing her mistake with anyone yet. Or ever. Jumping to conclusions was beginning to look like an ugly habit, and she wasn't sure that she liked it in herself.

With a shrug, he dropped the subject, and they rode along for the rest of the afternoon in a pleasant silence.

\---

When they reached the last river crossing, they were greeted by the sad remains of a destroyed wooden footbridge.

It wasn’t entirely surprising. Rains in the area had been only too evident from the muck underfoot. Rey’s dappled horse was beginning to almost look as dark as Ren’s, the spattered mud reaching as far as her knees.

Still, it was an incredible inconvenience. The river was swollen from the rains and it was clearly too high and choppy to try and ford. Even if the horses could possibly manage, there was no way that the carts could. Partly for convenience and partly for safety, Rey was unwilling to divide the party.

A map was dug out of a pack somewhere and after some quick consulting, it was agreed that they would proceed to the indicated bridge five miles north. It meant that they would have to camp again, the general mood turning sour as everyone’s hopes for a proper meal under a dry roof were dashed. The mud only grew worse as they went upriver, to the point where most of the riders had to dismount to try and prevent the horses from slipping and falling with the added weight on their backs. Tired and worn out, when they finally reached a clearing, there was a painful lull while everyone struggled to set up the tents and cooking fires on the damp grass.

Finally in her tent, Rey stripped efficiently out of her damp clothes, accepting Jessika’s help in wiping down her exposed skin and rubbing the flecks of mud off of her face. She couldn’t even wait until Ren came in, sighing with relief as she slipped into a dry and clean shift, collapsing into bed and falling straight asleep.

\---

In the darkest hour of the night, Rey opened her eyes.

For a moment, she was disoriented, unable to see and with no knowledge of why she had awoken. Rubbing her palm against her eyelids, she propped herself up slightly, blinking to adjust to the lack of light.

In the shadows over the bed, she saw a glint of metal.

Her scream froze in her lungs, and there was suddenly a hand over her mouth and nose, smothering her cry. Fear stripped her senses, the world narrowing down to the point of what was surely a knife, every inch of her gripped in the immediate fear that she was going to die. When everything had barely begun, it was going to be over, and her legacy would be that of a foolish girl who tried to take on the leadership of a country. Thrashing, she tried to move, but she was paralyzed by fear and the assailant was too heavy-

In a scuffle of movement, the hand was ripped away from her face, and she sucked in a ragged gasp of air. Her first scream came out as a whimper, dulled by panic and a rasping throat, but the second tore out of her like the cry of a wounded animal.

In moments, Finn burst into the tent, lamp in one hand and crossbow aimed high in the other. With the introduction of light, Rey could see why she was still alive: Ren was holding a man aloft by the throat, her assailant's feet dangling a foot off the ground.

As she watched, the assassin withered as the apple tree had under his hand, twitching and growing more hollow and pale until he took a shuddering breath and stilled, mouth falling open with convulsing finality. Rey had been so focused on watching the gruesome death that she only moved her eyes to her husband now- to find a feral snarl, teeth bared, blood slipping across his face from a cut that traced from brow to chin, between his eyes and over his nose. She cast a panicked glance at Finn to find that he was apparently as stunned as she was, gaping with his crossbow still vaguely pointing into the middle of the tent.

“Husband,” Rey said hesitantly, sliding towards the side of the bed and reaching a hand out, uncertain if he could be touched as he was. “Kylo-”

At the sound of his name the body fell from his hand, crumpling on the ground. When he turned, the light illuminated what the dark had hidden: the hilt of a blade buried in his chest, a terrible red bloom gradually growing against his nightshirt.

Finn regained his composure first. “A physician!” he shouted, leaning out of the flaps of the tent. “Call for the physician! Now!”

Rey knew without question that it was too late for that. She had cared for enough travelling pilgrims and dying poor to know that no physician had the skill to reverse a wound so great; no medicinal knowledge on earth could heal that. It simply wasn’t possible.

But something else might be able to.

This was something that she had never actually tried. She had soothed some fevered brows with a little push from her gift, but that was staggeringly different in scale from trying to reverse a knife wound. But her gift was stronger as of late than she had ever felt, and she had to try. She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t.

“Leave us,” she said sharply to Finn, scrabbling off the bed and hoping the raging fear was absent from her voice.

He hesitated, confused. “Your Grace-”

She yelled it this time. “Leave us!”

As he quickly drew out of the tent, barking at the other guards to back away, she turned her attention back to Ren. He was fading quickly; even if she could barely see it, she could sense it, the way that his life was ebbing away with each passing second. Dropping to her knees, she gripped the hilt of the blade between her hands, yanking it out of his skin with a grotesque slick and crunching sound. He yelled out in pain as the knife pulled away, but the sound slid into a groan as she tossed it aside and pressed her hands to the wound.

“No no no,” she muttered, desperately, feeling the blood bubble and slip between her fingers, sticky and pulsing. “No, you stubborn bastard, _no_ -”

He made a rasping sound and raised a bloody palm to her cheek. “Are you-” He took a rattling breath. “Are you hurt?”

His question made so little sense that she almost didn’t understand it. “I- what? No!”

To her disbelief, he made something that could only be a feeble relieved noise before he let his head and arm fall to the ground.

Why- why in God’s name would that be his concern in this moment-

She couldn’t think about it now. It was hard to concentrate when the fear was so overwhelming, but his words echoed in her head. _Just let it happen_. Kicking a bit of the carpet aside, she anchored her toes in the damp grass, letting her gift ripple out. There was so much life around them- in the forest, in the people, in the rush of the air. She only needed to harness it.

_Just let it happen._

Gritting her teeth, she silently prayed for guidance, willing the strength to pull up through her feet and into her arms. The terror and panic made it difficult to centre herself, but she had never needed to focus more.

Her gift was sluggish, reaching her in oozing waves rather than the sharp and clear rush that she normally felt when she was with him. And it was slow, too slow, he was fading too fast and she was going to lose him, and everything was going to be over before it had barely begun-

Suddenly, she felt something feebly begin to knit together under her fingers.

She focused on the feeling, ignoring the way her teeth were starting to chatter. The wound was deep, far more than just in the flesh, so she tried to send her gift as far into his chest as she could manage, willing the molasses-slow swirl to go further. He moaned in pain as bone and gristle clicked and moved, but she didn't let up. _Just a little more_. The skin began to join, inching across the gap like earth worms, sealing up the wound. _Just a little more_. Soon, the slip of blood was over firm skin and unbroken flesh, but she could still feel the extent of the damage below. _Just a little more_. Her arms were beginning to shake from exertion but she had to hang on, it was too close to let go now, when success was just in reach. _Just a little more._ As the last of the veins slid into contact she nearly let go, relieved to be finished-

But his face. There was still his face. In a final feeble burst of energy, she splayed her fingers over the laceration; as she ran her hand along it, she felt it seal shut.

At last, heart hammering so loud in her ears that she could almost see her pulse, body shaking and lungs screaming, she yanked her palms away and slumped against his chest with a shuddering gasp.

For a few moments, she panted into the air. “Kylo?” she finally whispered, afraid that she had simply made an unmarred corpse.

He broke the silence by taking a deep and wheezing breath. “Why,” he rasped, blindly reaching for her, arms raising clumsily to pat at her body like he was trying to confirm that she was real. “Why.”

The question made no sense. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t understand. Why would you save me?” He jostled her a little as he whispered, voice gradually gaining strength, fingers gripping her arms so tightly that it hurt. “It's one thing to pardon me, to forgo execution- why would you go out of your way to _save_ me, when you had a chance to be free?”

Why indeed? A few answers about political expediency and the catastrophe of having the heir murdered in her tent flitted through her mind, but they were pathetic excuses even in her head. In the moment, there had been such primal fear that it could only be attributed to… To…

She was too tired to think about it. Blearily looking down at him, barely able to make out his features in the dark, she went with what first came to mind. “You are my husband.”

If only she could see his expression.

Slowly, tenderly- almost reverently- he cupped her face, fingers reaching to the nape of her neck. Before she knew what was happening, he pulled her down and his lips were on hers, gentle and soft; almost deliriously relieved, she leaned into the kiss, some of her rattled nerves easing at this visceral proof of his being alive. His heartbeat thumped steadily under her hands and in some ways, she could feel an invisible line being crossed. One that it would be desperately impossible to come back from. He tasted like blood and iron, but it was the sweetest thing she could imagine because he was still moving, still breathing, fingers now skimming down her back.

“Thank God,” he murmured, when he finally pulled away.

“Thank God,” she agreed, putting her head down against his chest before she slid into the enticing embrace of oblivion.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to **leuerdelaube** and **juliaaurelia-blog** on Tumblr for stepping up to be my soundboard! ILU  <3 <3 
> 
> I've started posting little sneak peeks of upcoming chapters [**on Tumblr**](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/poethrotsvitha), by the way, so head over there if you want in. 
> 
> Infrastructure was an ongoing problem in the medieval era. It was generally assumed that local lords would take care of their surrounding roads and bridges, but that always went to shit as soon as there was any kind of strife. It made it hard to plan travel, as one can image. If you were travelling alone, there was also the obvious (and very real) threat of bandits. Not so much of an issue if you're lugging around an enormous armed retinue. 
> 
> Assassination has an interesting place in English history. It was attempted with a few different monarchs, but to my knowledge, it was never successful (unless the person in question was already basically under arrest, like Edward II or Henry VI. And we're not even certain that those were assassinations). But it never stopped people from plotting!


	8. Shadowed and Veiled, You Plague Me Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot? What? I don't know her.

Her mouth tasted like it was full of cotton, eyes heavy from sleep.

There was a bit of light slipping through the cracks of her tent, enough that she could see the canopy stretched above her head. Rey tried to ask if anyone was nearby, but the sound came out as a feeble croak.

In an instant, there was a rustle and Ren’s face came into view. “You're awake. Thank God.”

“Water?” she managed.

“One moment,” he said, disappearing immediately. Before long, he was back and Jessika’s worried gaze joined him in Rey’s view. He tipped a flask to her lips and Rey gulped at it, some of the cool water slipping down her chin.

Relaxing back against the pillow, she closed her eyes and let the water travel to her stomach, easing her parched throat.

When she opened her eyes again, Ren was gone. Stepping forward, Jessika helped her get propped up against the cushions. “We've all been very worried about you, your Grace,” she said, moving to collect Rey’s clothes and lay them out.

The room was coming into greater clarity even in the dim light. “What do you mean?”

“You slept for three days.”

That wasn't possible. “Three days?”

“His Grace has been agitated and on edge for the whole time. We’re all very relieved that you're awake.” Jessica produced some bread and cheese from a tray, and Rey suddenly realised that she was ravenous.

Easing past the ache in her stiff muscles, Rey gradually worked herself awake. Ren returned once Jessika had helped her dress, hovering over her like a large guard dog as she ate. He had pinned the tent flap open when he came in, finally allowing a proper measure of light inside; it threw the scar across his face into clear relief, red and raw in an arc from brow to chin. It dashed any vague hope in the back of Rey’s head that the whole incident just had been a terrible nightmare.

“Does it hurt?” Rey asked, touching her own face reflexively.

“Not at all,” Ren said immediately, sitting down beside her on the bed. “It seems that it will take its usual progression in scarring, but I’m in no pain.”

“And your chest?”

He lifted his tunic to reveal a red gash where the knife had broken the skin. Like the scar across his face, it still looked fresh. But when she put her fingers to it softly, he didn’t react.

“Truly,” he said. “It feels like the rest of my skin. It’s incredible.” He was looking at her with something akin to awe now, muted behind the obvious worry. “Were you aware that you could do that? It clearly exhausts you.”

Rey shook her head wordlessly, remembering the flow of her gift. The driving fear had given her a push quite unlike anything that she had ever felt before, even in the heat of battle.

“Such power,” he said, taking her hand and examining her fingertips like he could see something in them. “I still don’t fully understand why you saved me,” he added, frowning.

She took her hand back. “It was the right thing to do. And you saved me, did you not?”

“I did,” he agreed, brow furrowing. “Which is also unaccountable.”

He certainly knew how to romance a woman. She snorted and narrowed her eyes at him, edging back against the bed and pulling her knees up to her chest, the covers bunching over her legs. “That’s not very reassuring, I have to tell you.”

With a long sigh, he stared into space. “I haven’t known many in my life with… _Talents_ like ours. There was Snoke, obviously, and Luke. And my Mother.”

Rey blinked in surprise. “Lady Leia has the gift?”

“Yes, though she never developed it beyond a few small tricks.” Something of a sneer tugged at his mouth. “It was how she was able to slip me poisoned soup in the uprising, I would’ve seen it had it been prepared by anyone else.”

His was a strange family, Rey thought quietly.

“Snoke’s gift was about manipulation. Mine is… About death. Luke’s is ascetic, driven by discipline and a sense of duty. But you…” He tilted his head and turned it towards her. “It’s like you are life itself. I’ve never seen anything like it. When you first bested me in the tiltyard and I felt the touch of it, it was the closest I’ve ever come to seeing a genuine vision.” His gaze drifted back to his feet. “It would be against God's order to let such a thing disappear.”

“It’s all to do with my gift, then,” she said. The thought clenched at her chest for some reason. “Nothing to do with me.”

He seemed confused by her words. “Do you consider them separate?”

Perhaps, sometime, she would be able to articulate why it bothered her. “I suppose not.”

\---

While she had slept, the camp had firmly settled itself in the open field. Rey learned later that it had been suggested that they simply carry her while she slept, but Ren had flat-out forbidden it. When some of the generals argued with him about it, he ended the incident by breaking a man's nose.

Finn, in contrast, had done an admirable job of managing the peace while Ren frothed at the mouth. The men had been properly distracted with hunting and gathering firewood. The other positive news was that the river had receded enough that they were likely to have no trouble when they decided to proceed.

Sitting on a stool, Finn explained all of this and assured her that they could wait as long as necessary for her recovery. Rey, on the other hand, wanted to get moving as soon as possible. Eventually, he conceded that it would be wise to start riding the next day if she still felt well.

He also delivered the pile of messages from Luke that had been sent to Lady Kanata’s in preparation for their arrival. After the assassination attempt, he’d sent a rider to go ahead and explain the situation to Lady Kanata, as well as sending another messenger to alert the capital to the assassination attempt. It would be best if Luke and Lady Leia were also on their guard.

“I would have allowed Prince Ren to direct these things,” Finn said, a bit gruffly. “But he was in no state.”

“You did the right thing,” Rey assured him, patting him on the hand.

Once he was gone, she lit the lamp next to her bed, taking the letters and settling into the covers. No time like the present. Even though it was beginning to grow dark outside, the candles would give her at least enough light to read.

There was a rustle and Ren came into the tent with a frown. “I think you should be resting, not attending to that.”

“It’s a simple thing,” she insisted, matching his frown with one of her own. “I’m not an invalid.”

“You exhausted yourself. We ride tomorrow- at your own insistence- and you should be well.”

“I will be. Besides, I should think that you need just as much rest as me,” she said, reaching for her knife. “You were the one who nearly died.”

“You seem determined to not believe me,” he said, the wood squeaking in protest as he perched on the edge of the bed beside her. “But I feel better than I have in years.”

Sliding her knife under the wax seal, she slit the first letter open and unfolded the crisp parchment. Luke’s neat writing lined the page. “Years? How old are you, exactly?”

“Thirty one.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “So old!”

That earned her one slowly raised eyebrow. “Not so very old, I should think. How old are you?”

“Somewhere around my twentieth year.” She scanned the words, following the spidery ink across the page. This message was relatively old. Nothing of note- London was quiet, the council was arguing about the application of bonds as a measure of punishment, and Luke was easily resolving petty disputes and simple problems. “I can’t say for certain. The parish that held my birth records was razed to the ground around the same time my parents perished, and I was too young to hold onto that knowledge when they left me. No one who might know appears to be alive to remember.”

“Ah.”

Her hands stilled as she moved to the next envelope in the pile, nudged by an uncomfortable thought. “Did you ever fight in Lancashire?”

“No. Snoke tended to keep me no further than two or three days travel from the capital.” The look he gave her was knowing. 

Small mercies, Rey thought grimly. She'd never have to wonder if her husband’s blade was the one that made her an orphan. Returning her attention to her task, she broke the next royal seal.

She was a few lines into the letter when Ren leaned over and plucked it from her fingers. “This is ridiculous. I insist on you resting. You can at least wait until daylight.”

Huffing, she snatched it back. “I know what I’m doing, thank you.”

“You need to recover your strength.”

“Nonsense.” She smoothed the parchment from where it had become crumpled by her grip. “Perhaps you just can't keep up with me, old man.”

She barely saw the movement. In a flash, her hands were empty and the rest of the messages were cascading to the floor, her back flat against the mattress as he easily slid her down. He loomed over her on his elbows, tracing a thumb along her jawline. “I guess we’ll find out, little hellion.”

“I thought I was supposed to be sleeping,” she said, trying to ignore the hot clench of want that ignited in her lower stomach. It was a ridiculous moniker, but it made her flush all the same.

He stopped, eyebrows arching. “Will you?”

She twisted her mouth. “No,” she finally admitted, a bit sheepishly.

“Then are you truly telling me that letters from my uncle are more interesting than I am?”

It took a moment for her to see past the offended pout to the ever so slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes. “Are you- are you _teasing_ me?”

“Not possible,” he said. “Prince Kylo Ren does not tease.”

God’s teeth. “You are much more ridiculous than I ever realized.”

He responded by leaning down with a soft kiss. “Stop talking,” he murmured, lips moving against her own. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the kiss with a sigh, trying to match the way he was moving his mouth. She’d almost forgotten that they were kissing, now. Another change that she didn’t fully understand. But oh, it was nice, and he groaned when she slid her hand up to tangle it in his long hair.

Drawing away, Ren pressed his forehead to her own. “Truly, I would prefer if you rested.”

“Oh no,” she retorted, grinning at him. This, at the very least, was something about being married that she _knew_ she enjoyed. _This_ wasn’t complicated. “I absolutely refuse now, and it’s your fault.”

He lowered his head to her neck and she shivered as she felt his tongue lave little circles. “Do you promise to rest after?”

His head was lowered, so she could openly roll her eyes at the ceiling. “Very well.”

She wriggled as he lifted the hem of her shift, pulling it over her head. Moving back to kiss her properly again, his hands stroked down her body, tracing and skimming in a warm and soft touch.

Rey’s gift was springing to life, rippling along her skin. But rather than the heady and rushing pulse of before, it was just a gentle thing, thrumming wherever they touched. Perhaps it was because she had so recently expended all of her energy, she thought, but she wasn’t able to follow the thought as Ren’s fingers reached the cleft of her legs and her mind went blank.

He was just stroking, teasing, thumb swirling expertly while his fingers only traced where she could feel that she was already damp. After what was probably nothing but felt like an eternity, she found herself letting out a whine, trying to writhe her way into getting what she wanted.

“Shh,” he whispered, pressing a finger to her lips. “I’m assuming you don’t want the whole camp listening.”

She was too far gone to care. “Just- please-”

His fingers slipped inside her easily and she bit back a gasp, scrunching her eyes closed to try and stop her reaction from tumbling out. It was easy to rock against them, inching closer and closer as he crooked his fingers, stroking and twisting his wrist. Right when the cresting pleasure that she now recognized was growing into a pulsing rhythm, though, he drew away.

She nearly kicked him in displeasure. “Why-”

“Patience, little hellion,” he said, grinning wickedly. “Patience.” His tunic came off easily, tossed aside onto the floor, and he was working on the lacing of his breeches when she abruptly wrapped her legs around his waist and rolled them over.

He barely managed a surprised noise before she wiggled down his front. She’d been vaguely thinking about this for a while, following the logic that if he could use his mouth, surely she could too. It seemed a reasonable assumption. The musky scent was a bit stronger when her face was this close, and she tugged the fabric down past his hips. He seemed to have descended into a stunned silence, but it broke into a groan when she pressed a delicate kiss to the tip of the shaft, tasting a little bit of slick moisture.

“Is this nice?” she asked, looking up.

“Is it-” he repeated, sounding a bit strangled. “ _Yes_ , it’s nice.”

She tried a few more kisses and followed it with a lick, which made him jerk his hips into the air. That seemed encouraging, so she let her tongue be a bit more involved, swirling and flicking. He tasted a bit odd, sort of salty, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“Jesus,” he breathed, tangling his hand in her hair. “Rey, it- guh,” he said, abruptly letting go like he was afraid that he’d hurt her, awkwardly patting the top of her head in a jerky movement.

“It's fine,” she said, taking his hand and putting it back in her hair. It was rather nice, actually, the firm grip giving her tingles that shot straight to her hips. Sliding her lips open, she bobbed her head over the tip, experimenting with the movement as he sucked in a ragged breath. That seemed a good sign, so she took in a bit more, running her tongue along the thick vein that she could feel on the underside.  

This was hardly dignified behaviour for a Queen, she found herself thinking, as he shuddered and twitched under her. But his reaction- and his ebbing pleasure that she could somehow feel through her gift- made her not particularly care.

She was about to try and take in a little more when he released her hair and reached for her armpits, tugging at her to move upwards. Oh well, there would always be more time to explore that later, and she certainly felt eager enough herself to move on. She crawled over him, splaying his hands over her chest and aligning them together. Leaning down, she gave him a long kiss, feeling a touch of surprise from him when she slid her tongue out between her lips. The bliss of being joined in two places as she gradually took him inside was immeasurable, the skittering pleasure curling up her spine.

She broke the kiss to press a peck to his nose. “This is a far cry from sleeping. You’re a terrible caregiver.”

“If you listened to anything I said,” he retorted, “this would be a very different relationship.” She was giggling when he pulled her back down to his mouth, coaxing her to repeat the movement with her tongue, beginning to move his hips in a slow grind.

The swirling tendrils of her gift were mostly making her feel connected to everything around her, to the cool evening air and the ground beneath. It was oddly reassuring to feel him so firmly alive, heartbeat thumping stubbornly, the huff of his breath against her face as they kissed. For possibly the first time, she could truly feel the way that his own gift was flaring, tangling together with her own, merging beautifully. 

As he moved, she found that this new way of doing things made for an entirely different sensation, making her breath hitch each time he pushed inside. His hands found her hips and traced inwards until he was stroking just above where they were joined, and all of the sudden, she felt the promised release come rushing back on her- and oh, there was nothing quite like it- 

He hummed in pleasure as she succumbed to it, arching away and digging her nails into his shoulders. Her legs tightly clenched against his thighs, where she could still feel his breeches shoved halfway down his legs. It felt vaguely as if she could do this forever, rocking back and forth, riding wave after wave of rolling desire, tightly biting down on her lip to stop herself from wailing. 

“I think that would get boring after a while,” he said with a chuckle.

Rey snapped her gaze down to him in shock. Had she said it out loud?

The question was chased from her mind as he began to speed up a little, clearly more ready to focus on himself now that he felt she was satisfied. Gripping her hips tightly, he bent his knees and thrust up over and over until she thought she was going to melt, boneless and senseless. She lost herself in the feeling of not knowing where he ended and she began, her consciousness tentatively twining with his, their shared pleasure a heady and addictive song. 

It also meant that she could sense it when his own peak suddenly drew close. Fearing the potential for noise, she pushed herself down to kiss him firmly as she felt it thunder through him, swallowing his groans as he gave a final few thrusts.

Kissing was pleasant, Rey decided. She could get quite used to this.

She kept him trapped there for a bit longer as he shuddered, fingers clenching tightly at her hips. With one last bite against his lower lip, she climbed off him and flopped onto her side, sighing happily into the fabric. The trickle of dampness between her thighs was... Strangely pleasing. 

With his own sigh, he rolled himself up on his elbow and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I told you once that ruling means making difficult decisions.”

She blinked at him sleepily.

“It corrupts you, in a way,” he said quietly. “It changes you. Hardens you. It’s happened to me already, if I wasn’t like that to begin with. It’s happened to most everyone around me.” His finger moved to the corner of her mouth, ghosting and soft in his touch. “You’re different. I don’t want it to happen to you.”  

“It won’t,” she murmured. “I’ve been told I’m incorrigibly hopeful.”

Even though she could barely see him, it was like she felt his gaze darken. “I’ll make sure that it won’t.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Help me I can't stop writing Kylo as being secretly sassy. D: 
> 
> Onto Lady Kanata's next! Where we meet an... Unexpected guest.
> 
> The medieval Church SO disapproved of oral sex and hahahaha IDGAF. The medieval church also wanted people to, you know, attend, and they had to make approximately a million edicts insisting that people received communion at least once a _year_ so I'm getting the vibe that a lot of people weren't picking up what they were putting down in any case.


	9. Driven on and Weighted Down, Always Enslaved

Rey took a quick tour of the camp in the crisp early morning as everyone was waking, stretching out her limbs and nodding to soldiers as they crawled out of their tents.

No apples out of season. No strange flowers. No signs of an early and unaccountable spring. All of the local flora appeared to be as it had been when they arrived— with some satisfaction, she surveyed the scene with her hands on her hips, relieved that they seemed to have started to figure out a solution to that particular problem.

Now, they just had to do it again when she hadn’t recently exhausted her gift. Not that she minded practicing, she thought, casting her mind back to the night before, cheeks warming a little at the thought. The nuns really didn’t know what they were missing.

Although, she had to admit that the experience didn’t seem to be universally pleasant for her sex. Perhaps she was lucky in that regard.

Lost in her thoughts, she walked back to the main campfire, where she found Finn perched on a log and biting into some dried meat. Hands behind her back, she gave him her broadest grin. “Ready to have a real roof over your head, Captain?”

“Your Grace!” He hopped from his perch and sank into a kneel, which she quickly waved him up from. “We’re all very relieved to see you looking so well.”

“I never thanked you,” Rey said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “for coming to our aid that night.”

“I didn’t do much, your Grace.” He looked vaguely ashamed at the words.

“Even so, it’s reassuring to know that you are always on call.” She leaned forward and pulled him into a friendly hug, enjoying the way that he made a little pleased noise of surprise before he lightly patted on her on the back.

_TRAITOR._

The word flashed across her mind with such venom that she almost leapt back in panic. Finn sensed her stiffening and immediately drew away. “Did I—”

“No- no,” Rey assured him, blinking quickly, trying to make sense of what had just happened. “Nothing to do with you, Captain. Don’t worry yourself.”

Mostly to avoid the sudden awkwardness, she wandered over to her steed and began to set up her tack and saddle, trying to process what had just happened. The thought had been so sharp, so visceral. She had absolutely no reason to think of Finn as a traitor— was it some sort of intuition, a warning? Her gift had never expressed itself that way before. There should be no one in their camp who would think of Finn as—

Oh. Of course.

It was so obvious that she pressed her forehead against the steady flank of her horse and groaned. Of course, there was one person who would think of Finn that way. A person who was spending a rather a lot of time mixing his own thoughts with her own as of late. A person who apparently could now inject his commentary into her head; she couldn’t exactly pinpoint when that had started happening, which was slightly worrying.  

She had to crane her head around for a while before she spotted him, looming ominously as attendants packed their tent. Even when she sent out a little nudge with her gift, Ren refused to look her way, staunchly keeping his glower on the people scurrying around him with his arms resolutely crossed.

She couldn’t understand it, but if he wanted to be childish, she supposed she couldn’t stop him. Good mood slightly ruined, she climbed up onto her horse to supervise the preparations to depart.

\---

Against the green and rolling landscape, Lady Kanata’s manor stood proud and strong, rising from the ground in an intimidating dark jut of corners and angles. As they approached, Rey began to be able to make out the windows in the brick, glinting in the sunlight.

A little closer still, she was able to see that the gate was open. No doubt they had heard the approach of the horses’ hooves. It would have been audible for miles, thunderous clamour against the silence of the countryside.

As they rode into the courtyard, she saw that the household had assembled in front of the manor doors. At the head of the group stood a woman— possibly the smallest woman that Rey had ever seen. She barely reached the chests of those around her.

Rey nimbly dismounted, and as she did so, the entire party sank into deep curtsies and bows.

The tiny woman shuffled forward. “Your Grace,” she said, “welcome to my home.”

“Lady Kanata.” Rey gestured for everyone to rise, and there was a brief scuffle while everyone got to their feet, some of the older members of the crowd taking a moment to regain their balance. “We are grateful that you have granted us the opportunity to enjoy your hospitality.” The words, formal and stilted, didn’t come easily. Two years of Luke’s coaching had trained her for this in theory, but it was still a struggle after months to not panic in the face of another person so graceful and dignified.

“Please, come inside,” Lady Kanata gestured, moving her hand in a slow arc.

Rey was about to step forward when she heard Ren’s voice call out from behind her. “I will oversee the soldier’s encampment.”

With no way of knowing whether or not it was rude for him to depart so soon, she gave him a quick wave. Perhaps the time alone would see him in better spirits.

Lady Kanata led the way as the scuffle of unpacking began, looking up with a wrinkled smile. “I have arranged for you to have the solar, your Grace. Would you take something to eat?”

Food was always good news. “That would be very kind.”

They trooped through the hallways, the tiny old woman in the lead, with Rey and her ladies following behind. As she passed a few servants, Rey regretfully realized that she would have to go back to wearing gowns while she was here— without the excuse of long-distance riding, it would be hard to justify the trousers.

The great hall was spacious with an interlocking wood roof, a roaring fire crackling in the grate on one side. Lady Kanata promptly led them to the head table, where some food had already been laid out in preparation: cheeses and manchet breads, oysters and salmon, along with what appeared to be cuttings of rabbit. Lady Kanata clearly kept a well-stocked larder.

Rey took the head seat with only a moment’s hesitation, smiling as a steward stepped forward to fill her cup with wine. “This is very generous.”

“Only your due,” Lady Kanata replied. “We are all grateful to see the end of the wars.”

With a twist of her hand, Rey invited her ladies to join her, and they settled with some clucking to enjoy their spoils. Rey was in the middle of quizzing Lady Kanata about crop yields in the area when there was a creak of hinges and all of her ladies’ chatter dried up into a conspicuous silence.

There was a woman standing in the doorway, with a pale face and hair confined under a fine gold netting. The fabric of her gown was clearly expensive and adhered tightly to the lines of a slender waist, with a cut against the chest that was scandalously low. Dainty shoes peeked out from a sweeping hem, which was somehow still fairly clean even though it brushed the ground.

“Ah, yes,” Lady Kanata said, with an almost indiscernible tightening of her lips. “Your Grace, may I present Lady Netal, come to stay with me as a guest while her husband copes with rebels in the North.”

Lady Netal stepped forward, her gait even and graceful, until she sank into a curtsey that was just a fraction too high. Rey was suddenly uncomfortably aware of her dirty face and rumpled hair, her clothes entirely inappropriate for her rank and sex, the fact that they were stained with sweat and mud and God only knew what else from days of riding.

His discomfort was compounded by the fact that something about this woman was clearly upsetting her ladies, each face either set in disapproval or dismay. Rey’s stomach tightened at the visceral reminder of her not _knowing_ , of not having the background that these people all shared, of her status as an outsider.

Clearing her throat, she tried to keep her face and voice calm. “You may rise, Lady Netal. I hope we will not interrupt your stay here.”

 “Oh no,” Lady Netal said evenly, her voice surprisingly musical for its low timbre. When she stood straight and so close, Rey could see that she was quite a tall woman, imposing in her stature. “I was very pleased to hear of your intended visit, your Grace. Very pleased indeed.”

\---

The rest of the afternoon passed without a chance for Rey to ask about Lady Netal's background, given the way that the woman in question stuck closely to her retinue like a burr in Rey’s side. It needn't have been suspicious, as Lady Kanata did the same; but the bristling hostility in the room did nothing to ease Rey's nerves. Lady Netal seemed to be waiting for someone, and with a sinking feeling, Rey felt that she knew just who that someone was.

A little bristled by the woman’s beauty, Rey had Jessika wipe her down top to bottom behind a screen as her ladies sewed and tittered. With a harpist strumming in the background, she enjoyed the feeling of the cloth against her skin, warm and comforting in front of the fire keeping her warm. That finished, she called for a gown that she hadn’t bothered to even pull out since they left, a kirtle trimmed in cloth of gold, the hem lined with fine and soft fur. If Jessika thought anything of this, she didn’t voice it out loud. Rey did note that especial care was given to her hair, the braids knotted and looped with unusual intricacy.

Back in the great hall for dinner, Rey saw her suspicions confirmed. The men trooped in to eat, and Ren broke away to move to the head table; three steps in, he noticed the new addition to their party. 

To anyone else, Ren’s face as he spotted Lady Netal would have looked quite blank and expressionless. For a man prone to bouts of rage, he was remarkably unreadable until he snapped, a firm mask of impassivity in place. Lady Netal appeared equally unmoved. 

Rey, though, felt the emotion through her gift. It rippled through him in quick succession: recognition, shock, curiosity. He didn’t seem displeased, which only made her bad mood twist further.

As he reached the table, he took in Rey’s finery. “You look very nice.”

“Thank you,” Rey replied stiffly, sitting so that everyone else could sit as well. The food was brought forth and noise filled the hall, happy soldiers digging into a solid meal and joking raucously over cups of mead. 

Ren tried to engage her throughout the meal— or, at the very least, as much as he ever did, occasionally dropping an observation or asking if she was enjoying the food— but she found it hard to reciprocate. Every time the conversation would lull, his gaze would drift back to Lady Netal. It was obvious, to the degree where she could sense Jessika’s ire on her behalf, which only made Rey feel more humiliated and uncomfortable. She barely made it a half hour before she rose, the entire hall quickly scrabbling to its feet to prevent sitting in her presence.

Ignoring his confused look, she cast her glance over the room. "I find I am tired after my journey, so I am retiring early. Please, stay and enjoy Lady Kanata's gracious hospitality, for which we are very grateful." One polite nod to Lady Kanata was enough to make the majority of the crowd relax. 

A flurry of glaring ladies in tow, she then left the hall.  

\---

The solar seemed a mile away, especially with the painful sympathy radiating off of her ladies. By the time she reached the room, she was almost seeing red, and it took all of her self-control to calmly ask to be left alone.

“But my lady,” Jessika said softly, “your gown?”

“I can manage it myself.”

“But—”

“ _Go_ ,” Rey said, and something about her tone made them all immediately withdraw.

Once alone, she had to resist the urge to pick up the pewter drinking jug and fling it against the wall. But that was what Ren would have done; almost out of spite for that, she resisted. Striding to the window, she looked out over the countryside, bracing her arms on the stonework. It was damp to her touch as her fingers curled against the rough surface. If she simply stomped on the feelings hard enough, surely they would go away. They always had before.

She had been so determined to try and make this union work that she hadn’t even considered the risks of investing herself. For him to be irritating and reckless was one thing, but unfaithful? Men usually were, but she hadn’t even considered it. Foolish, foolish, _foolish_ —

The door to her room creaked open.

Even without looking, she could tell who it was. “I asked for privacy,” she gritted out.

“I know,” Ren answered. “Your ladies told me.”

Turning around, she gave him her most venomous glare. It was gratifying to see him stop in his tracks.

He raised his hands slowly. “I came to see what’s upsetting you. It’s hard to relax when I can feel it.”

“Pardon me for destroying your peace.”

“God’s teeth,” he said, irritation creeping into his voice. “What’s the issue?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She turned back to the window. “You can barely keep your eyes off her, the whole room could see it.”

“What… Oh. _Oh_. Bazine?”

That didn’t even seem worth gracing with a response.

“Rey,” he said gently, “you can read my feelings.”

“Oh, so you’re aware of that, are you? But you didn’t think it important to mention? The shock you gave me with the Captain this morning was highly unwelcome.”

Now it was his turn to stiffen. “You’re the Queen. It’s inappropriate for him to touch you.”

“But not inappropriate for you to—”

“ _Rey_.” It was said with force this time, nearly a bark. He closed the rest of the distance between them and gripped her arm so tightly that it almost hurt. “Read my feelings.”  

She wanted to say no, just because she could. But the sensible part of her mind prodded at her ceaselessly, so with perhaps a slight bit more force than necessary, she dug in with her gift. Ignoring him as he winced, she rifled around until she found the appropriate memory of the feast—

_concern, deep concern and unease— Why is she here— unease and distrust and an anger, festering, always there, he is always angry, and he controls it because he must— She worked for Snoke why is she here— curiosity that has a harsh edge because he hates not knowing— Is she truly here for asylum or is there something underhanded at play— Of course there is there always is with Bazine— irritation creeps in his mind and oh for God’s sake what’s upset Rey now—_

Rey snapped out of the memory, jolted by the reference to herself.

“See?” Ren finally let go of her arm. “I wasn’t thinking about bedding her.”

Putting a hand to her eyes, Rey hunched over slightly, the sting of everyone’s pity still burning. “But you did, before. Bed her.”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “She was one of the few approved to be in Snoke’s inner circle and, well.” He shrugged. “A man has needs.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Did you want a detailed history?” His tone turned vaguely disdainful. “Very well, the first was a whore in the Southwark stews when I was barely sixteen years—”

“Silence!” she snapped, raising a finger to point sharply at his nose. “Do you expect me to get _pleasure_ out of being the only one in the room not knowing, with every single onlooker pitying me for your presumed infidelity?”

He fell silent at that.

“Leave,” she commanded, turning back to the window.

Rather than leaving, though, he simply stood, hovering behind her shoulder. “I… Have a history,” he finally said slowly. “I can’t make it disappear. But I don’t…” When she spared him a glance, she found that he looked exquisitely uncomfortable, like he was struggling with his words. “I don’t want to shame you. I can’t help what other people think.”

It was infuriatingly sensible, and she relaxed a fraction almost against her will. “The surprise was unwelcome, that’s all.”

“Almost as unwelcome as the surprise of an army deposing you and your disgraced Mother announcing that you’re to marry their leader?”  

Her anger mounted and she turned to snap at him again, but it died in her throat when she saw that he was actually _smiling_ a little, as if this was his incredibly poorly formed attempt at a truce. The smile widened when he saw her hesitate. Infuriating man. She scoffed at him a little, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re terrible at this, did you know that?”

“I’ve been told, yes.”

“Are there any other  _recent_ mistresses that I should know of?”

He snorted. “I don’t think you’re aware of how tightly Snoke controlled my movements, towards the end. No, no one else, not for the last…” He had to tip his head back and think about it. “At least a few years.”

It would have to do. She narrowed her eyes at him. “And none going forward.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she muttered darkly, shifting back to the window.

A hand settled on the back of her neck, his thumb pressing against the stiff muscles and rubbing in small circles that eased the tension. “We could just have her sent away?”

“I’ll think on it tomorrow. Now,” she said, turning her head so she could see him out of the corner of her eye, “are you going to help me out of this gown or do I need to call my ladies back?”

Even if she couldn’t see the smile, she felt the surge of good humour as his hands moved to her laces.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some people get a bit upset at the idea of this OTP having had previous partners. But hell, Kylo is a 31 year old man in a time where it really wasn’t expected that the nobility would show restraint. Give the man a break. Also here’s an [**interesting article about prostitution!**](http://www.historyextra.com/feature/medieval/sin-city-thievery-prostitution-and-murder-medieval-london) Look, you’re learning all sorts of things from this fic. 
> 
> Manchet bread was the best quality bread made in Medieval England. The wheat was sieved through a cloth, so it was very fine and created a fluffier loaf. Only for the rich, obviously. Everyone else mostly ate stuff made with Rye, and it was much grittier. 
> 
> Speaking of food! I had Rey eating some apples earlier, and it’s worth noting that this makes her pretty unusual for nobility. There was a deep suspicion of all “raw” or unprepared food, so most fruits and vegetables were only eaten if stewed. In general, actually, the wealthy had a diet pretty scarce of fruit and veg. But Rey’s been poor, and she eats anything. She’s quite a bit healthier for it too, so I’ve envisioned her as being a bit taller than most of her peers. Ironic. 
> 
> Lady Kanata is a widow. It was the most straightforward way to end up running things as a woman at the time.
> 
> I drew... [**A thing?**](https://poethrotsvitha.tumblr.com/post/155151794830/wip-of-reys-wedding-portrait-for-my-fic-fortunes) I love the idea but I'm not very goooood someone better at art please step in and help ヾ( •́д•̀ ;)ﾉ


	10. I Bring My Bare Back to Your Villainy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back
> 
> Back again
> 
> Hrotsvitha's back
> 
> Tell a friend
> 
> Oh and also content warning for, like, angry sex, I guess.

They were a thunderous wave across the silent countryside, hoofbeats of the horses drumming against the dirt. Rey rode at the front, properly attired in a dress and furs for once, determined to face this with all the Queenly dignity that she could muster.

She had no doubt that the Order of the First Saint would be able to hear them coming from a mile away.

The copse of trees indicating their meeting place slowly came into view, rising against the rolling hills. She could see the group assembled there, of moderate size and camped about without any particular order.

When she reached them, she could immediately distinguish their leader from among the group. He was dressed to a much finer standard than all the others, with a stiff posture and a firm hold to his jaw.

As they clattered to a stop, the man stared at Rey with such venom that it took all of her control to keep her face placid and calm.

Ren dismounted first. He then offered a hand up to her, holding his palm even so that she could grasp it tightly as she slid down from the height of her horse. The ground was thankfully dry enough that she didn’t sink in too heavily when she landed, maintaining as graceful a demeanour as possible.

As she approached with the clatter of armoured men slowly dismounting behind her, the surrounding crowd gradually knelt in the dirt. All, that was, except for the richly dressed man who stood at the front. He merely bowed slightly from the waist, letting her see a glint of red hair from under his fine hat.

They were a ragtag group. Any fears about an ambush had clearly been unnecessary; most of them didn’t even appear to have makeshift weapons, let alone real ones.

The redheaded man spoke first. “Lady Rey.”

Ren corrected him sharply. “Your Grace, Hux, remember your place.”

“ _Lord_ Hux,” the man corrected back, equally sharp.  

Rey sidestepped the issue by folding her palms and addressing this Lord Hux directly, as well as the greater crowd at large. “You called for a meeting. You appear to be under the assumption I am here to discuss terms; I am not. I am here to tell you to disband and return to your homes.”

Hux ignored her. “Our demands are reasonable, Lady Rey, and backed by the word of God.”

“Is that so?”

“We only ask that you accept that Eve was meant to follow Adam.”

She closed her eyes in irritation. “I somehow think that is not all.”

“If you accept this fact, you must realize that it is only right that you should cede authority to your husband.” Hux’s voice took on a sharp edge.

Summoning her patience, Rey raised a hand before Ren could let out an angry retort. “I assume you have a written list of these requirements of yours? To spare us all the obsequious niceties?” She had absolutely no intention of agreeing to any terms, of course, but it was in her interest to stretch the timing of this meeting on for some while.  

“This way,” Hux gestured, and as Rey stepped forward to follow, she noted Finn and a small group of his men peeling away from the back of her retinue.

\---

The ride back somehow felt longer, especially as it began to rain well before they reached the manor. The mud grew worse with each mile and Rey's dress gradually grew heavier and heavier against her skin, slowly becoming soaked through. By the time they made it to Lady Kanata’s, the whole party was in a dismal mood.

Rey went directly to her chambers, accepting a helping hand from Jessika as she stripped out of her soaked things. Finally dry, she tugged a new shift over her head with a happy sigh. Jessika was pulling a brush through her hair when there was a stern knock at the door.

Jessika quickly went and opened it, before returning to Rey. “It’s the Captain, your Grace.”

“Show him in. By the fireplace, please, where I’ll be obscured.”

There was a brief shuffling sound of heavy boots before Jessika came back and began brushing her hair once more.

Rey cleared her throat. “Present your report, Captain.”

The timbre of Finn’s voice was a bit hesitant. “Your Grace, if I should return later—”

For heaven’s sake. There was a solid screen and the new shift was made of a thick material that went straight to her knees. Which he wouldn’t be seeing in any case. Some of this would be _much_ easier if she were a man. “Time is of the essence, Captain. Please give me your report so you can return to your duties.”  

She almost heard him straighten and brace his shoulders. “Of course. I personally supervised the reconnaissance team as you were meeting the rebels, as you suggested. We tracked their main camp to a location not far from the copse, and we found them to be highly disorganized, without weapons, and poorly provisioned. There is no—”

Abruptly, Finn’s voice went silent and Rey had the sensation of being pulled under the surface of a pond by steady and insistent hands. Confused, she tried to blink and shake herself awake, but she found that her eyes opened to a scene in an entirely different place. She was in a hallway in the manor somewhere, and the lamps in the grates were somehow closer than usual— like she was taller, she realized, by quite a bit. Lady Bazine’s face was front and centre, peering up with lips organized in a tight pout. “I don’t understand what hold she has on you,” she was saying, voice plaintive. “We intend to put you back on your rightful throne, to the destiny that was yours by right—”

Ren’s voice rumbled out in response, but it felt like she was hearing it from the inside of a round chapel, voice bouncing off in every direction. “That is treason.”

“Accept our help,” Lady Bazine insisted. “We would have you lead us.”

“And if I don’t wish this?”

“I had no idea that you were so mild a man, to be led around by your apron strings—”

She felt Ren’s irritation as her own, was aware of the twitch of his sword hand. “Leave me. Now.”  

Lady Bazine stepped back gracefully, but she still looked determined. “Consider it, my Lord. We are faithful to your cause. I have ways of delivering messages to Lord Hux, and can be your conduit to him without _that woman_ knowing.” She turned, and in a few smooth steps, she was around the corner and gone.

When Rey blinked, she was suddenly back in her own head. It felt as though there was still water sloshing around in her ears. She could distantly tell that she wasn’t alone in her thoughts, and as she braced her stance, she found herself looking down to try and focus her gaze.

Ren’s embarrassment was immediate when he realized she was only in her shift, which was ridiculous, given that trousers were more revealing and he regularly saw her with no clothing at all. Her own reaction to his embarrassment somehow made him _more_ embarrassed—

She stumbled again, and her foot rattled against the small side table. Jessika made an alarmed noise and Finn inquired nervously from his spot by the fireside, “Is everything all right, your Grace?”

Ren’s embarrassment morphed into flaring rage in the blink of an eye. Just as suddenly as he had arrived, Rey was alone in her head, and their connection was slammed shut.

Blinking rapidly, Rey bit back a groan. “I’m fine, merely a spell of exhaustion. Poorly provisioned, you said?”

“Yes,” Finn continued, still sounding unsure. “At this stage, they are definitely without the capacity to take on the royal army. By my estimation, they do not even have the resources to last out the rest of the winter without scattering.”

“You will now return and confirm this?”

“I will—”

The door slammed open with such force that Rey heard it bounce against the wall. Ren's snarl was nearly as loud as the bang of the door. “What in _God’s name_ are you doing in here?”

Rey let out a heavy sigh and let her chin fall to her chest. “Please leave us, Captain. Jessika, you as well.”

The two of them couldn’t disappear fast enough. When she peeked around the screen, she could see why; Ren looked like he was on the very edge of throwing the same punches that had broken a few noses during his last disagreement.

He pointed at her with a steady hand, advancing steadily. “ _He_ should not be in here when you are _changing_.”

“He was standing where you are now,” Rey shot back testily, “and how much— exactly— can you see of me? Nothing at all, if I wasn’t deliberately looking around.”

“That is beside the point.”

“What— that is exactly the point!”

He stopped when he was standing in front of her, arms crossed, glowering down from his stupid height. “He should not even be anywhere near your nakedness.”

“You are aware that I am naked all the time under my clothes.”

“This is not a jest!”

“The Captain was operating under a tight schedule. I needed him to go while the daylight still remains.” She snapped a hand out towards the window, gesturing at the slowly setting sun. “Asking him to wait for me to lace into the ridiculous number of layers that I am required to wear would be a waste of time. It would not be necessary, were I a King.”

He stepped even closer. “But you are not. You are not, and you must be aware—”

“As if those such as the Order of the First Saint would let me forget!”

“I am trying to help you, you _infuriating_ woman!”

“And I am _daily_ trying to incorporate you into the regime even though the majority of my court would have you only be a figurehead, I am _on your side_ —”

“Then do not have other men in the room with you when you are undressed!” His face was turning red, and she distantly had the rather inappropriate thought that he was almost cute when he was this flustered.

“As if I would _ever_ ,” she retorted, pressing her palm against his chest and putting her strength behind it, enough that he took a half step back, “give you cause to doubt my _fidelity_ —”

The rest of her words were silenced when Ren abruptly pulled her in for a smothering kiss, one that nearly bent her over backwards with its force.

What could she do but respond in kind? As they stumbled back towards the bed, she clawed her fingers through his hair, yanking hard enough that she almost felt the sympathetic ache against her own scalp in response. It only made her want to pull harder. Distantly, her brain muttered that this was a strange transition from arguing, but in some ways it felt as though they were still carrying through the same action. It was as much of a battle as it was when they were yelling, only now there was a dark undercurrent of pleasure rippling through the interaction as well. 

When they fell against the coverlet, she was immediately covered by his weight, being pressed into the mattress. Given the lack of outer layers, it was easy to wrap her legs around his waist and grind up against the hardness that she could already feel in his breeches, breaking the kiss to arch back and gasp. With almost no prompting, he immediately began fumbling with his laces, groaning into her shoulder as scraped her nails through fabric all down his back.

For once, their gifts were not in sync. He was too disordered, the cumulative day’s events too humiliating, and it overwhelmed her almost as much as his physical weight. It was fury and lust and wounded pride all at once, mixing with her own frustration into a potent blend. She was being swept under by the intensity of it, his anger bleeding into her as she reached up and bit furiously at his shoulder through his clothes.

Apparently, that hurt, because he snarled and jerked away. There was another dark pulse of his gift, and she was abruptly being rolled onto her front, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. They hadn’t done this quite this way before but she could immediately sense the potential of it, almost see what he was imagining, and she hiked her shift up before craning around. “Hurry _up_ ,” she snarled, alarmingly quickly ready for them to drown together.

She keened at the first thrust, brutal and to the hilt, but it nearly immediately slid into a groan when he started to move. This, they definitely should’ve done _this_ before, as each stroke nudged against something that made her convulse. The thought could have been his or hers, she wasn’t entirely sure, but his fury was still leaving so much vibrating energy in her palms that she flexed her fingers and a glass jug on the other side of the room abruptly shattered, shards raining against the floor.

A palm pressed against her shoulder and it somehow only served to intensify the connection, her fingers tearing holes in the coverlet as she writhed backwards against him. He was angry and _she_ was angry but she also felt so very powerful, like she could burn the whole manor to the ground with a flick of her wrist if she wanted to.

His voice was close to her ear when he spoke, breath hot against the top of her spine. “You could. Together, we could. We could burn the entire _country_ to the ground, all of our enemies reduced to nothing but smouldering ash, they would cower before us—”

She wanted less talking and more movement; she blindly grabbed for his hand and laced their fingers together, clenching them so tightly that it bruised, as if she was trying to swallow him whole. “Shut up and give me more, now—”

He obeyed and she vaguely got the sense that he would always obey, that they were helplessly locked together in this dance of one step forwards, two steps back, bound by a shared strange song. Pushing her face into the cover, she muffled her wails as she felt him finally let go of the furious hold of his gift, the air in the room warping around them. Still holding his hand, she gripped on for dear life as his movements became brutal until he shuddered and curved over her with a few, final and desperate groans, the final thrust leaving a warm slickness down her thigh.

When he slumped beside her on the bed, she smoothly rolled onto her back, smiling and practically vibrating with a strange and smug sort of satisfaction. Without another word, he folded himself against her, arm over her waist and face tucked against the curve of her shoulder. It was an oddly protective gesture, and she found herself sighing and relaxing against his hold as the last of the dark whispers slowly evaporated away.

She twisted her neck so she could brush her nose against his. “You have no reason to be jealous, I hope you know that.” She let the sincerity of the emotion ripple through their connection, trying to convey how utterly disinterested she was in the Captain or anyone else.

He merely cuddled her closer, but she felt the surge of primal satisfaction and affection all the same.

\---

The next day dawned bright and clear.

Rey was in a cheerful mood, humming a little tune as she prepared for the day. But when the young woman delivering breakfast arrived, Rey’s mood was apparently not shared, as the girl looked nervous and deeply apologetic.

Of all of her ladies, it was Jessika who noticed first. Bless her. “Is something wrong, my dear?”

“My lady,” the girl responded, bobbing into a curtsey, “your Grace. I am so very sorry, but there is no milk to be had this morning.”

It was a laughable worry as far as Rey was concerned, given that she had simply gone without food for many mornings in her life, but the girl was obviously distressed. “Is something the matter with the cows?”

The girl’s lips pinched together even tighter. “It… It’s a poor omen, your Grace.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“All of the milk in the manor is curdled, your Grace. As far as the village. The work of witches, my Nan says, spoiled in their communion with the devil.”

Rey absorbed this knowledge and it took absolutely all of her considerable self-control to keep a straight face. The girl’s words were not _that_ far from the truth. “I’m sure it’s nothing of the sort. Such superstitions are beneath our Christian realm, are they not?”

The girl bobbed into an embarrassed curtsey, scurrying away from the rebuke.

As they began their bread, the ladies chattered among themselves, speculating back and forth about the possible causes of such a curious thing. It was unknowable to human minds, they eventually concluded, nodding sagely.

Rey sat in the middle of them all, sending wave after wave of amusement towards her vaguely sheepish husband.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block had me by the jugular with this one. It was frustrating because I knew exactly what I wanted to write- this whole fic has a fairly detailed plot straight through to the end- but my perfectionism jerkbrain was all, "well you can't put _this_ on the internet, it's a pile of _garbage_ and you should be ashamed." 
> 
> Well I'M DOING IT ANYWAY SUCK IT JERK BRAIN 凸(⊙▂⊙ )
> 
> I've commented on the silence of the countryside a few times now. Seriously, though, I need you to try and imagine it: no cars, no planes, no background humming of streetlamps or ringing phones. In a lot of cases, no _people_ , as the population was so much smaller. People were much more attuned to this silence. They write about being able to recognize individual dogs by their bark, for example. A group of galloping horses would've seemed SO LOUD. 
> 
> I am taking so many liberties with the idea of Rey meeting with the rebels. I mean, stuff like that happened, with one famous example being when Richard II agreed to meet with the leader of the Peasant's Revolt peacefully. But that ended with Wat Tyler being stabbed (so it didn't work out great). But ah well, my story, my rules. 
> 
> I had to look up "shut up" because it seemed like such a modern phrase, but apparently "To shut (one's) mouth "desist from speaking" is recorded from 1340". The more you know. 
> 
> Medieval witches seem like they were having a blast. Curdling milk, making livestock lame, chatting with animals, having loads of sex with the devil, all that good stuff. What a life.
> 
> Last but CERTAINLY not least, th3morrigan drew [**this incredible piece of art for my Rey**](https://poethrotsvitha.tumblr.com/post/156529769535/th3morrigan-inspired-by-fortunes-throne-by) and it's 110% exactly as I imagined and I shrieked at my computer for a good thirty seconds when I first opened it. Go give it some love!


	11. I May Have Flourished, Happy and Blessed

The front courtyard of Lady Kanata’s manor had become an epicentre of chaos, servants running back and forth as horses were saddled and carts packed. Somewhat serenely, Rey stood in the middle of it all, watching as final preparations were made for their departure. Her steps felt lighter these days; with the threat of the Order of the First Saint now seeming much less significant and with Ren’s steady presence constantly within reach, she felt rather at peace with her role in the world.

She was watching a young boy wrestle a rather battered tunic away from one of the kitchen dogs when there was a tap at her elbow. As Rey turned, she found that she had to look down to be able to meet Lady Kanata’s friendly smile, wrinkled and warm.

“Lady Kanata,” Rey said, gripping the smaller woman’s hands. “I cannot thank you enough for your generous hospitality. I’ve never had such fine oysters.”

“I was glad to be of service, your Grace. Before you go, however, I wished to speak to you privately…” Rey obligingly leaned forward, so that Lady Kanata had to do no more than whisper. “I hope it isn’t too forward,” she began, “but I was surprised to learn that you have accepted Lady Netal’s wish to join your retinue back to London.”

Lady Kanata wasn’t the only one who had been surprised. Rey’s ladies had fluttered like birds at the news, too nervous to boldly question her motives but too invested to simply be unconcerned.

Part of Rey felt like explaining that it was better to have one’s friends close and one’s enemies closer. Part of her wanted to confess that Lady Netal represented a connection to an insurrection that could yet grow fangs. But those things would remain hers and Ren’s secret, a joint decision that no one need know about. “It was his Grace’s wish,” she finally replied, patting Lady Kanata’s hand with a smile.

The returned smile grew even more confused. “I see.” As Rey nodded and attempted to move away, Lady Kanata suddenly grabbed at her sleeve, as if not willing to let her go quite yet. When Rey stopped, Lady Kanata peered at her sharply over her spectacles and Rey suddenly got the sense that the old woman could see right through her. “I hope you know, your Grace, that you do not need to be a King.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“There are those who expect you become a man in order to rule.” Lady Kanata finally took her hand away from Rey’s sleeve. “But we have had Kings before. As a Queen, you have singular gifts that only you can offer. Remember— when the time comes, it will be important.”

\---

The novelty of being on the road again soon began to wear thin. The roads somehow seemed muddier, the rain more relentless, the food more stale and dry. Rey, usually as hardy as they came, found herself longing for a warm fire and a soft bed.  

It was with some relief, therefore, that they arrived at their final stop before London. In this manor, owned by the small and rather round Lord Sella, Rey could prepare to make an appropriate triumphal return. His was a cultured home; he insisted on entertaining her with an afternoon of music and cards before she could retire, and she was only able to shake his well-meaning care off after several hours of witticisms. 

Finally retreating to her rooms, she found Jessika bent over the finest gown they had carried, carefully unpicking some stitches. “Jessika? What are you doing?”

“Making sure this fits properly, your Grace,” Jessika said evenly. “I had let the sides out some weeks ago, thinking that we would have a longer stay in the north, but I now think it should be tightened slightly to look its best tomorrow.”

“Let out…” Rey frowned. She had been eating well, yes, but not _that_ well, and she’d also been exercising steadily. “Have my measurements changed?”

Jessika looked up with a confused frown. “No? But they will, of course.”

“Will— will they? Why?”

The two women stared at each other blankly for a moment before a look of dawning understanding grew in Jessika’s eyes. “Your Grace… Had you not noticed? I had assumed you were merely being discreet until we returned to London.”

Rey was getting more confused by the moment. “Not noticed what? What are you talking about?”

“Your Grace, I’m responsible for your laundry, if you will recall.”

“What–”

“There has been no blood on them for some time.”

Finally, slowly, dully, everything clicked into place in Rey’s mind. She felt the colour drain from her face. “God’s bones.”

Jessika immediately got to her feet and reached for Rey's elbows, guiding her to the bed that stood against the far wall. Wobbily, Rey perched on the edge, and Jessika settled gracefully beside her. “I’m so sorry, your Grace, I really thought you knew.”

“I was often…” Rey shook her head like there was water in her ears. “For many, many years nothing about my— my _cycle_ was regular— and then I was at war, and I think the stress…” She spun her hands a few times at the wrist. “I never came to expect it. Though there had been some regularity in the months before my marriage, once I was eating properly...”  

Her panic was growing with each word as the reality sunk in. It was, of course, exactly what was supposed to happen, what she had wanted to happen, what _everyone_ wanted. But the physical act had become so wrapped up in intimacy and pleasure that she’d rather forgotten its greater purpose, and the travel had kept her so distracted. Now it was real, it had to be, and she was utterly unprepared—

She felt the nudge of concern from Ren in the back of her mind, and it was all she could do to incoherently send a babbled series of thoughts that went something like _CHILD LATE COURSES PREGNANT BABY EXPECTING BABY PREGNANT CHILD._

He abruptly disappeared, the connection slammed shut.

Jessika was still watching her with concern. “This is joyous news, is it not?”  

“Yes, yes absolutely, wonderful news, it’s just a little…” Rey swallowed, waiting for the lightheaded feeling to pass. “I don’t believe I know what to expect.” It wasn’t as though childbirth had been a common part of living in a nunnery, and Luke had hardly bothered to include that in her education.

“Well, my Mother has nine children besides me, and I am the eldest— I believe you’ll find no better expert,” Jessika grinned.

Rey was nothing if not pragmatic. “Tell me.”

The next hour became a blur of learning about the quickening and the sickness that she could expect, the strange cravings, the intense bursts of emotion. Rey was quite certain that some adjustments would have to be made about her confinement— she could hardly withdraw completely from public life for three months— and the thought of the birth itself made her feel a bit nauseous. But Jessika’s enthusiasm and joy was infectious, and soon Rey found herself lacing her fingers over her stomach, looking down in some wonder at this very pedestrian miracle that God enacted every day. A child of her own. From her and from _him_.

Jessika was extolling the virtues of saints’ medallions in easing childbirth when there was a loud and steady knock at the door. Rey leaned sideways on the bed so that she could see the entrance to her chambers. “Yes?”

“Your Grace?” The door creaked open to reveal Finn, eyebrows drawn together. “I was wondering if you might know why the Prince is sitting on the edge of the training yard with his head between his knees?”

\---

On the day of her announcement, shortly after their return, all of the churches of London rang their bells to celebrate. It was cacophonous, more even than a saint’s day or Christmas, as the bell-ringers toiled for hours to show their joy at the news.

The overflow of goodwill was astounding. The city practically seemed to hum with the excitement at the idea of having an heir, a legitimate royal family, the promise of stability and peace. Every courtier was falling over themselves to offer their congratulations and gifts, and Rey found herself suddenly drowning in feminine advice. It ranged from the helpful (“a hot foot soak can help with the soreness”) to the bizarre (“avoid soft cheese, or his male parts will be deformed!”). It was exhausting, but she tried to take it all with patience and good humour.

For his part, Ren spent a solid three days wandering the palace at Whitehall like a man dazed. People offered their congratulations respectfully, but his reaction was impassive. To the outside world, he may have appeared entirely unaffected; Rey, though, could feel the reeling disbelief and fear jostling with excitement and a tentative hope. He gradually relaxed as time went by, enough that he could take advice about fatherhood from his own Father without developing a twitch in his right eye.

They fell into a routine as the weeks crept on. In the evenings, Rey would dismiss her ladies and Ren would join her to quiz her about her health, the day’s happenings, and whether she was eating properly. It was the closest thing to a domestic coziness that they had ever experienced. She found she rather liked it. It gave her the strange sense that they could have been any young couple, with the same concerns that danced on the minds of new parents everywhere. 

It was on one such night that they were lying in bed, his face level with her stomach, his fingertips lightly tracing patterns lightly over her shift. The subtlest promise of a swell was beginning to develop, really at this point more of a tenseness in her skin than any real protrusion.  “Have you felt it move?”

Rey shifted against the pillows, peering down at him, oddly childlike in his position even though his limbs were so long that his legs hung off the end of the bed. “Nothing so far. It may be as much as another month, yet.”

He made a humming noise and she felt the puff of air against her side as his fingers swirled again, drawing another circle. “I hope he’ll be strong.”

“Do you want a son?” As soon as she asked, she felt ridiculous; it was so obvious that it was barely worth saying out loud. He was a man, of course he wanted an heir.

His head twitched as he snorted. “As long as they don’t get my ears, I don’t care either way.”

\---

As ever, there had to be bad news to temper the good. One evening, when Rey was almost ready for bed, Finn sought her out for an audience. After she had dismissed her ladies, he handed her a letter that that was folded and sealed with black wax. “From Dameron,” he explained, holding it out towards her. “It was in code, but I translated it for you. I—” he hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “I hope I did not overstep.”

“You were aware of this investigation from the start,” Rey said easily, taking the letter and walking to her bedside table, where she took her knife and slit the wax open. “I trust you.”  

The words contained in the parchment were not reassuring.

_All signs of Princes lead to dead end. Cannot locate the bodies. All who were at Tower on day cannot be found. Rumours of a guard working that evening now being in Flanders. Investigating personally._

She had known that it wouldn’t be simple. Finn had warned her, and it was still relatively early days. Even so, it was a disappointment to see the words written so clearly in ink.

Sighing, Rey folded the letter before tossing it into the fire.

\---

Despite the ever-encroaching promise of spring, the court awoke one morning to find that the world had become blanketed in white.

Rey was delighted. She had seen the occasional smattering of sleet and snow while they were travelling, but never anything thick enough to so completely cover the world. She consented to waiting long enough that her ladies could bundle her into a fur cloak, but after that, she was off like a shot, ready to go enjoy this new novelty.

Standing in the garden, she stamped in the snow, reaching down and padding some of it together in her hands. “It sticks!” she announced joyously, her ladies laughing at her delight.

“Your Grace,” Jessika offered, “would you like to make a snowman?”

“A what?”

“A man made from snow. We can roll his body together, find some stones for his eyes.”

Nothing could have made Rey happier. She immediately began clumping the snow together, accepting help as they all gradually made it into a man that came about to her waist. After stones had been found for the eyes and sticks attached for arms, Rey grinned and made two protrusions that stuck out the side of the head at a straight angle. Turning to her ladies, she gestured to it with a broad grin. “May I present: his Grace, the Prince of Wales.”

They all dissolved into titters of laughter, hands covering their cold-reddened cheeks. That was, until one of them in the back abruptly went pale, laughter dying in her throat as her eyes fixed on something behind Rey.

Rey felt the presence almost at the same moment that her lady saw it. Oh, God’s _teeth_.

“Husband!” she said cheerfully, spinning and deftly skipping sideways to try and block his view of the snowman. She was trying to bite the inside of her cheeks to stop from smiling too broadly, but it was proving a challenge. “What brings you here?”

“On my way to the training yard,” he said evenly, which should have been obvious from the sword at his waist and the fully armed escort of men that he was walking with. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” she said immediately, feeling her face turn pink.

“Wife.”

“Nothing!”

Leaning down, he bodily lifted her up and a foot over, revealing the offending pile of snow behind her.

For a long moment, everyone was absolutely silent as he circled around and looked at it, face blank. Rey could feel her ladies’ anxiety rolling off them, mindful of his famous pride and tantrums.

Abruptly, Ren made a small noise at the back of his throat, one that might have been a growl. But it happened again, and again, and his shoulders started to lightly shake; to the obvious shock of everyone present, he started to laugh, covering his eyes with a hand as the sound boomed out, deep and resonant.

When he finally stopped, he looked back at Rey, eyebrows raised. “If you planned to make an imitation of me, you could at least have given it a big prick as well.”

She could feel her blush and the grin stretching across her face, but she made a scoffing noise. “And allowed your ego to grow even larger? No, good sir, I think not.”

Everyone present was now following this conversation with wide eyes. A few of her ladies had even let their mouths fall a little open, as if they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing.

Ren snorted and reached out, cupping the back of Rey’s head with his palm. Drawing her close, he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Relieved, she leaned against his chest.

It was a mistake to let her guard down. As soon as he felt her relax, he deftly swiped a handful of snow off the snowman and stuffed it down the back of her cloak. She immediately twisted and yelped loudly, clawing at the back of her own neck as the snow slipped down her back. He merely stepped back and laughed again, pointing a finger towards her ladies in a mockery of sternness. “Don’t let her stay out here for too long.”

In a few brisk steps, he was back to walking towards the training yard, his men shuffling along behind him. Rey, meanwhile, continued to stamp her feet and make outraged noises, still trying to stop the trickle of freezing drops down her skin. Jessika shook herself out of her reverie first, stifling her giggles and stepping forward to replace Rey's now-soaked furs with her own cloak.

The rest of her ladies, meanwhile, stayed where they were. Rooted to the ground, all they could do was share astounded looks between them, as if the risen Christ himself had just stepped forward and announced his preference for candied plums.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props to **guibass** for sending me stuff about medieval snowmen- thank you for giving me such wonderful material for a scene. -blows kisses- Mwah mwah mwah. 
> 
> Medieval pregnancy! Oh, what an adventure. Weird advice abounded (just as it does now, to be fair). I've seen a few saint's medallions for birth, along with something that was marked down in the museum as "St. Anne's Girdle". They speculated that it was meant to be worn during childbirth, what with her being the patron saint of mothers. Thank everything sane and holy for modern obstetrics. 
> 
> Technically, a pregnancy wasn't considered "real" until a quickening (feeling the baby move). But this new regime is in deep need of some good news, so I don't think it's that odd that they would announce a little early. 
> 
> Oh, and before you go thinking that it's not realistic that she got knocked up so quickly, take a moment to consider that I have these two actually moving _slower_ than their historical counterparts. Henry VII and Elizabeth of York had their first son nine months after the wedding. Wedding night baby, much??


	12. Fate Strikes Down the Strong Man

Flowers unfurled as spring arrived, perfuming the air every time Rey went to her garden. Her energy seemed to wax and wane as her stomach swelled, but being around the green always provided her with a deep well of strength and steadiness to draw from.

She was sitting in her garden when she first felt it- a strange sensation, like bubbles popping, low in her abdomen.

As soon as she recognized what it was, she sent a bright and giddy beckoning spark of emotion out through her gift. That done, she immediately tamped the connection down so as to not ruin the surprise before he arrived. They were gradually improving at modulating the connection between them, deepening it when it was convenient and extracting themselves when it was not.

Eventually, Ren appeared in the doorway, frown heavy on his brow. "What is it?"

"Come here, come here," she said, waving her hands, whispering like she was almost afraid that speaking would break the spell. "Quickly!"

He settled beside her and she took his hand, pressing it to her abdomen, waiting for the sensation to happen again. It only took a few moments- a fluttering little kick, evidence of life flourishing in her womb.

He let out a little bark of surprise, a grin spreading across his face. "Amazing." As she beamed back at him, his head dropped, nearer to the source of the kicking, his smile almost beatific. "Absolutely amazing."

\---

Lord Richmond was nearly seven minutes into a long-winded complaint about a tax dispute with one of his neighbours when Rey saw Luke striding through the council chamber, brow furrowed.

Thank heavens. She could use the distraction. Even using her gift to complain to Ren- he was sat a little ways down the table among the other councillors, his face impressively flat as he joined in with barbed comments about Richmond’s choice in clothing- was not helping the time pass any faster.

“Lord Richmond,” she started gently, “I understand that this is of great concern to you and it is therefore of great concern for the realm, but I must ask you to return tomorrow.”

“I beg your-” Richmond stuttered. “I have waited a _week_ for an audience, has your condition grown so advanced that you are incapable of-”

Ren narrowed his eyes and exhaled a slow breath through his nose, very near to a growl, enough to grab Richmond’s attention.

“-tomorrow, of course,” Richmond abruptly corrected, “please have a page inform me of the time.” Though clearly still disgruntled, he stood, joining the rest of the obviously relieved councillors as they filed out of the chamber.

When the room was empty, she and Ren both turned expectantly to Luke.

“It's… bad,” Luke started. “Very bad.” For a moment, he looked lost, as if he couldn't even decide where to begin. “The Order of the First Saint is now claiming that they have found Richard. And that they intend to raise him to the throne.”

Rey could barely understand what she was hearing. “What- the _younger_ _lost prince_? Have they no _shame_?” That was a low that she hadn't even considered them stooping to. When she cast a glance at her husband, she found that he had gone sharply pale, his fingers holding the table in a death grip.

Luke sat at one of the vacated chairs gingerly, worry lines deep on his face. “I know this a little sooner than the rest of the world- one of my spies sent a fast messenger. But the word will be out by tomorrow, I suspect, or the day after at the latest. They're sending envoys to the major cities to spread the word”

Ren’s first response was pushed through gritted teeth. “How many?”

“Sorry?”

“How many have betrayed us?”

Rey blinked at him. Her mind hadn't even gotten that far yet-

“Three,” Luke said grimly, “that I know of. York, Durham, and one of the Border Lords. Those with the most to gain from destabilising the monarchy; those farthest from the capital.”

“One shred of legitimacy,” Ren spat out, “and they would abandon us.”

Even in these dire circumstances, Rey’s heart lifted a little to hear his allegiance declared so clearly and firmly. “They were poorly organised and provisioned before,” she said, trying to envision the best case scenario. “A few lords will add to their numbers, but we have our own army. Can anyone speak to or verify this prince?”

Luke shook his head grimly. “Hux is refusing to let anyone see the boy, except to say that he fled the Tower by night and had been living in hiding with minor nobility in the Northwest. He still claims to not be against the monarchy, merely that he wishes to _correct the impurity of the reign of a woman_ -”

Rey barely had enough time to shove her chair back and stand as Ren lurched to his feet, yanking his sword free and bringing it down on the table with a furious yell. He was a fair physical distance away and she was at no real risk, but she still obeyed the motion when Luke firmly walked her to the wall, away from the oncoming path of any projectile splinters.

Cushions came apart under Ren’s furious blows, finely crafted chairs splintering as he whaled at them with his blade. She tried to call out to him once or twice, both out loud and through her gift, but he didn't seem to hear- giving up, Rey just stood back with raised eyebrows, watching as he destroyed all of the furniture in the room. The table came apart in pieces, hacked at like he was using his expensive sword as an axe.

Luke, for his part, almost seemed like he was withholding an eye roll.

When Ren finally stopped, panting over the wreckage of the room, Rey cleared her throat. “If you're quite finished, we should assemble a war council.”

\---

The rest of Rey's afternoon was spent with her chattering ladies, all of them still blissfully unaware of the impending chaos. If any of them thought that she seemed distracted, unable to keep up with the usual stream of gossip and laughter, they chose not to comment on it.

Nonetheless, she still found it a relief to be able to finally send them away as the day came to a close, welcoming Ren as he arrived according to their usual schedule. There had been some fuss about his continued _attentions_ , given her condition; a few clerics had been brave enough to tut about the impurity of physical relations during pregnancy. Rey blithely ignored them. She didn't even need to ask to know that Ren didn't care.

In the silence, she lay curled against his side, listening to the wind rattle against the windowpanes. He was as awake as she was; she could feel it though her gift, a strumming anxiety that they almost seemed to feed back and forth between them.

She found herself staring at the whorls and swirls of pattern in the dark red canopy far above. "Do you think it could really be the prince?"

"I... Don't know," he answered after a pause, voice low. "It's unlikely."

"If it is..." She trailed off, not sure of how to finish the thought. Mainly because she genuinely wasn't certain of what she would do if that came to pass.

"And if it isn't," he countered, "there's nothing to stop it from happening again. And again, and again- as long as there's uncertainty, this will keep happening." His hand gently reached out to touch her stomach. “This could go on for generations- supposed heirs of the supposed lost princes. Without bodies or a definitive version of what happened, it will be endless.”

Rey briefly thought of her thus-far unsuccessful investigation. "I don't believe there are any real solutions."

He leaned up onto his elbow, slowly tucking some of her hair behind her ear. "No easy solutions, true."

She rolled her head and frowned at him. “You say that as if there are difficult solutions.”

The sad half-smile that he gave her was imbued with meaning that she didn't understand, uneasiness lingering at its corners. But when she opened her mouth to ask, he pressed a finger to her lips, quickly followed by a kiss that distracted her away from her concerns.

It was easy to forget about the burden of politics for a moment as his hands slid up her thighs, seeking comfort against her skin. She cuddled back against him, hooking one leg forward as she lay on her side, curling her fingers into the soft covers when his fingers traced the cleft of her legs.

They were silent throughout, with her only letting out a little sigh when he pushed into her from behind. The quiet made the world feel somehow calmer, this little cocoon of tapestries and covers hiding them away from everything. A nest where they could await the future and their little one in safety.

This position really ought to have felt more impersonal, more distant, given that they weren't facing each other. But with his torso tightly curved around her back and an arm gently and carefully placed on her stomach, she felt... Safe. The pace he set was rocking and gentle, slowly bringing her to a rolling pleasure that made her almost feel drunk. The kisses peppered against her neck and shoulders were ticklish and lovely, making her smile into the dark.

When he eventually shuddered and stilled, his lips pressed against her hair, she almost thought she heard him whisper a quiet _I love you._

\---

Business of state still had to continue, even as members of the war council responded to summons and began to travel to London. Not everything could be set aside- accordingly, Rey was sitting in the throne room, greeting a newly arrived ambassador from Rome, when she felt Ren unobtrusively slip into the hall through a side door.

The room was moderately busy, with people waiting for some of her time and servants scurrying back and forth. It was bound to be a long and boring afternoon, so Rey had dismissed her ladies, assuring them that the Captain would be enough company for this task.

She didn't particularly pay Ren any mind until the sound of a sword being withdrawn from a scabbard suddenly rasped through the room. Every guard in the vicinity snapped to attention at the sound, their hands immediately flying to the hilts of their own blades.

When Rey frowned and stood, looking for the source of the noise, she found that Ren was already sheathing his sword again and loosening it from his belt. In a brusque movement, he let it clatter to the floor. Before anyone could react, he then spoke clearly into the room, voice loud in the silence. “The so-called Prince of the Order of the First Saint is a fake.”

Something was wrong. When Rey reached out to him, could still feel his presence through her gift, but beyond that, it was like staring into a dark pool of still water- everything beneath a mystery.

His face was as brusque as she had ever seen it, almost as though he was wearing a mask. “He cannot be legitimate, because both legitimate princes are dead.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up in a vague dread; her pulse was jumping in her ears, her chest tight. Even with his feelings hidden, she could sense that something about his words were dreadfully off, missing that usual ring of truth. _No- no- no- wrong- wrong- LIAR-_

“I know this because they died at my hand.”

The silence was deafening. Rey felt like even her heart stopped beating.

“Two years ago, I went to the Tower on Snoke’s request and smothered them in their sleep,” he continued, his words unnervingly steady and toneless. “I used a pillow-”

“Stop.” It was said with such a hiss that Rey almost didn't recognise her own voice. An anger was building, deep in her breastbone, a tense and throbbing thing that was making her hands shake. She had tried, since the beginning, to be conciliatory, building the new realm from the ashes of the old, and it was all falling apart so _quickly_ -

He kept speaking. “They died quickly. The older one-”

“ _Stop_.” She felt her gift twine with his as she pulled at it, harnessing a warped tendril of power until she abruptly flipped it and _shoved_ outward in a blind rage.

With a deafening _crack_ , the windows in the room fractured as one; the spiderweb of lines slid along the glass from top to bottom, an eerie dragging sound.

In the heartbeat that followed, every single person in the hall fell to their knees as if shoved.

There was a breath of stunned silence and fear. The courtiers looked like they didn't dare move, frozen in panic. Even Luke, off slightly to her side, was projecting a rolling sense of alarm that she hadn't ever felt from him before.

Ren, though- in the middle of the room and on his knees, Ren was staring at her like she had hung the moon, a mix of vulnerable awe and naked adoration that made her suddenly wish they were alone.

She closed her eyes and tried to master herself. "Retract your confession."

"I will not."

It was infuriating- she could tell that he was lying, could taste the dishonesty on his tongue through her gift, but her word meant nothing if he wouldn't corroborate it. " _Retract your confession_."

He finally broke his stare, lowering his eyes to the floor, but remained silent.

Pulse now pounding in her ears, Rey raised her fingers to her temples, trying to think. This was a disaster. This was an absolute, complete disaster- she was essentially witnessing his suicide- how could he _do_ this, how could he be so _selfish_ -

_No easy solutions._

Mastering herself, she turned slightly to face Finn, still at his post near the dais. To his credit, he had only gone down on one knee, and he didn't look frightened as much as astonished. "Take Prince Ren to the Tower. One of the residential rooms." Rey swept her gaze back over the crowd. "None of you will speak of this. _None of you_. Not until I have decided how to proceed. If you breathe a word of this- even to your wives or your children- you will live to regret it. If you disobey, _I will know_." The power was still rattling around in her head and along her spine, like a fist being held tense for too long, the urge to lash out at something growing by the second. How did he manage it, this feeling always living inside his head? Gritting her teeth, she controlled her rage and flexed her fingers, forcibly relaxing herself. It felt like abruptly coming up for air; suddenly drained, she stumbled half a step backwards, ignoring the worried arm that Luke reached out towards her.

All of the sudden, the presence of other people in the room was suffocating.

Trying to look measured, she lowered herself back onto the throne, closing her eyes. "Leave me. All of you."

She refused to watch even as she heard her guards move forward and arrest Ren. As courtiers and ambassadors staggered to their feet and fled the hall, she kept her eyes closed, not able to deal with anything more than the swirling mess of her gift and the way that Ren's mind was suddenly a closed off mystery, no matter how she poked and prodded. It was an aching absence, a phantom limb.

The room was very nearly empty when Luke gently placed his hand on her shoulder, giving it a sympathetic squeeze.

She tried to take comfort in it. He would always be an ally- she would never be alone. But the knowledge barely felt like a candle in the face of an oncoming storm.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tower of London often housed very _rich_ prisoners, and they had nicely furnished rooms and servants to attend to them. Kylo isn't being thrown in a dungeon.
> 
> Every time I get discouraged and want to throw this fic aside, I think of the lovely comments from y'all and it helps me persevere. Thank you so much.


	13. Everyone Weep with Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some potentially triggering content around pregnancy in this chapter. Please go to the end notes if you want to check and make sure it's within your comfort level. If you want to avoid spoilers, read on!

The bed was awfully large without her husband. Jessika had begun sleeping in his place, along with Robbert laid out in front of the door for security, but it was hardly the same. Jessika did not have enough weight to make Rey sag towards the centre of the bed. She didn’t radiate heat, not like Ren. She didn’t occasionally let out a rasping snore and need to be kicked for it, and Rey absolutely could _not_ believe that she had been reduced to a state of missing _that_.

Staring at the canopy, Rey replayed the events of Ren’s arrest for what had to be the thousandth time.

Oh, she wanted to flay him. Absolutely shake him senseless for what he had done. But, then, she had been furious when she thought he had cursed the crown. Over the issue of the bedding. When he had punished the poacher. When Lady Net— _that woman_ had arrived. Again and again, she had accused him, and later discovered that he was acting with good reason. For her own benefit.

Her thoughts looped back to the same point as they always did: perhaps, just perhaps, she should trust him? There had been a childish petulance to her acts before. But then he had proven his steadfastness, had he not? Surely she ought to hold that in consideration, no matter how insensible his actions appeared? 

Shifting awkwardly around her stomach and trying to roll on her side without disturbing Jessika, she sighed. Yes, perhaps she should trust him. It didn't come naturally and it was much harder than being angry, but perhaps it was time for a new approach. 

Of course, there wasn’t much else that was within her power to do anyway. Not without potentially starting an insurrection.

\---

The days seemed to drag, longer than Rey had ever known. The court was jittery, a tense and dangerous thrum in the air, the oncoming threat of war enough to make even the bravest men bolt their doors at night.

This was a country beleaguered by war. It had been going on intermittently for nearly seventy years. Thinking back to her early confidence about bringing peace made Rey almost want to cry.

The aching absence of Ren did nothing to help. He had firmly shut himself away and she couldn’t feel a trace of him in her gift or in her soul, and it was enough to sap her strength all by itself. No matter how long she spent in prayer or in her garden, some part of her always felt empty. It was a numbing sort of exhaustion that made it hard to be too upset about anything. 

But the state did not stop. So Rey walked through each of her days with her head held as high as she could manage, accepting petitions and overseeing disputes. To her great relief, her Council was absolute in their intention to support her and to punish any who did not, so she was less alone in this dispute with the Order of the First Saint than she originally thought. It helped that Lord Hux was widely mistrusted and disliked. Luke and Finn, as always, were ever present and there when she needed support.

Her ladies were a bit of a different matter. They were as kind as ever, but they treated her like she was barely a hair’s breadth away from shattering, surely so distraught by the collapse of her marriage that she must be as fragile as spun glass.

Rey had never been fragile, and she did not intend to start now.

\---

“Your nightly report, your Grace.”

Rey blinked up at the Captain from where she had been staring into the fire until spots danced behind her eyelids. The exhaustion was worst at this hour, when night had long fallen and almost everyone was abed. She really ought to be asleep herself, but the report had to come first.

With a flick of her wrist, she waved Jessika and Robbert away. Jessika rose smoothly, setting her sewing aside, and followed the pageboy out of the room.

The Captain cleared his throat. “He received a visitor today.”

Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms, Rey tried to coax some focus back into her mind. “Who?”

He hesitated for a touch too long.

“Finn,” Rey said slowly, narrowing her eyes. “Who was the visitor?”

“Lady Netal, your Grace.” He said the words slowly, almost like he wished he could have avoided saying the name at all. 

Of course. For the millionth time, Rey wished that she could simply reach out to him and ask for an explanation, but a tentative unfurling of her gift led to nothing. “Any other news?”

“Nothing. His health is fine, he received no messages, and there were no attempts on his life.”

“And Dameron?”

“No word.”

Pressing her fingers to her eyes again, Rey took a deep breath. Another normal day in this strange new version of her reality, then. “Please call Jessika and the Robbert back in. I would sleep now.”  

\---

Even the pounding rain could not keep the councillors away, their cloaks dripping water onto the stone floor as they grumbled and made their way into the star chamber. Under the painted blue ceiling, they gathered as usual to first compare stories about their journey and the weather before moving on to matters of state. After Rey had entered and settled, everyone took their seat, ready for another morning of business.

It was Luke who first called everyone’s attention, standing to give his report. “We have another update on the Order of the First Saint." He took a deep breath. "The False Prince has been crowned in York Cathedral, with his followers in attendance.”

Cries of outrage went up in the room with Lord Han at the forefront, his hand beating down on the table in loud thumps. “The nerve!”

Rey waved her hand to quiet them. “Who carried out the coronation?”

“My sources report that Lord Hux threatened the Archbishop of York into fulfilling the role. It can, of course, be declared null by the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

There were a series of murmurs of assent as Rey directed that this should be done, the scribe busily scratching away in the corner.

“We also have reports of their attempts to gather resources. With some of the Northern Lords on their side, they have had more success, but they are rapidly burning out each place that they reach. We may have to save some food to later be sent to the northern cities that they have ravaged…”

Although Luke was still speaking, Rey was gradually becoming distracted by a twinging pain in her stomach, rather like that from having eaten too many sweetmeats in too short a time. The throbbing became harder to ignore as the minutes passed, the cramps coming faster and faster even as Luke finished his report amongst dark muttering from all the other councillors.

Lord Richmond was standing now, speaking about port tariffs and plans for taxation in order to ensure that an army could be paid on time. Even as she tried her hardest to pay attention, the aching pain in Rey’s stomach was still growing, drumming on the inside of her skin. She could feel some sweat starting to bead on her lip, her hands shaking faintly as she tried to listen with the appropriate amount of solemnity.

“— will no doubt be discontent, but the shipping vessels involved in the trade of Burgundian wool surely have enough profits to spare—”

“My Lords,” she started, and every head in the room snapped towards her. She had already established a reputation for being a fair listener who heard even the most rambling of courtiers with respect, so it was out of character for her to interrupt. “I’m very sorry, but I believe I will have to retire from this sessi—” Her breath deserted her lungs when there was another snapping pain in her abdomen.

There was a rustle of worried noise as she lurched to her feet, away from the long table. Chairs scraped loudly as everyone jumped to not remain seated, and the noise covered the sound of her unwilling gasp at the next twinge. Perhaps she wouldn't show weakness if she could just get away from this room. She could get somewhere safe before she succumbed to the pain. Her mind fiercely latched onto this thought. Yes, yes, she must get away, as fast as possible.

She had just managed to step around the table, hand on her stomach, when there was a stilted gasp from Luke. “My God,” he breathed, a horrified silence falling over the room as everyone else followed his gaze.

Craning over her shoulder, Rey tried to see what he had seen.

Blood.

There was blood on the yellow fabric of her seat cushion.

A roaring filled her ears. She was immediately drowning in the sensation of being sucked under, of fear and rage and grief not entirely her own, fiercely compounding the ache in her bones.

Before she could take even another step, she pitched forward and the world went dark.

\---

_Everything is ablaze. The world is burning and the earth is splitting and the sun is black as sin, the moon red as blood, mountains crumbling and skies falling while the stars recede, swirling into nothing—_

_And oh, she hurts, everything is pain, hail and blood and fire burning the trees and the green grass, everything gone—_

_She comes up for air but there is nothing but the deep void and the flames—_

“— in the hell happened?”

“The physician is coming as fast as he can, but he had to pack his tools—”

“Tell the fool to hurry! We cannot afford to wait!”

 _Her mouth opens but there is no sound, and she tries to call for_ him _,_ he _could help,_ he _would help—_

“Your Grace?”

“God’s bones, she’s waking, quickly, where is the physician—”

“Quiet!”

“Your Grace—”

“Quiet, all of you, she’s asking for something!”

_There is a bottomless abyss and a star falls to it until there is darkness, and the rivers grow poisoned and smoke issues forth from the ground, and the armies are marching, marching, marching, onwards and onwards until she is crushed in their wake, pain sharp in her stomach but her screams are silent—_

_There is a blinding light and the demons are swept away by trumpets sounding in a riot of glory—_

\---

Then there was nothing. And she slept.

\---

When she opened her eyes, Ren was bending over her.

“You…” Rey blinked up at him for a moment, wondering if he was a mirage, before she remembered what had happened. Her hands flew to her stomach and when everything was still for a moment, her heart stopped. “What happened? What—”

A little nudge kicked at her hand from within her stomach. As if to say _Don’t worry, I’m still here_. Her heart lurched into movement once more, almost a little too fast for comfort.  

Ren drew her attention back to him by gently touching his hand to her cheek. “The baby is well. All will be well.” His eyes were rimmed red, she now saw, and his voice had something of a shake to it. The light was dim in the room so it had to be evening, the fire crackling in the grate. 

She couldn’t take it all in. “Why are you here?”

“You asked for me, in a moment where you were lucid.”

That sounded vaguely familiar, though the whole incident was hazy in Rey’s mind. “And they let you come?”

His eyes darkened. “You were apparently quite insistent. And it was a good thing. I was going to get to you in any case, and this way I didn’t have to kill anyone in the process.”

“What?”

“I had subdued two guards when the message came, I was in the process of stealing a horse—”

Another head poked out from behind Ren, revealing Jessika’s pale and worried face. “Thank the Lord,” she breathed, eyes wide. “Your Grace, everyone has been terrified that you wouldn’t wake. How do you feel?”

Rey made a slow assessment of her body. All told, she only felt tired. “Mostly well, I believe.”

“I will go and inform the rest of the court, if, um—,” Jessika seemed to hesitate over Ren’s official title given his arrest, “—if his Grace will stay and watch—”

“Of course,” Ren said flatly. Jessika disappeared in a flurry.

Accepting Ren’s help, Rey tried to sit, his hands firm on her arm as he propped her up. There was another little movement in her stomach as she shifted. “What happened to the baby?”

“Something was…” His voice grew rasping again. “Something was wrong. Very wrong.”

“But you said—”

“I fixed it.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. “You what? How?”

He gently cradled her hand in his own, interlacing their fingers together. Suddenly, abruptly, she realised that their gifts are freely mingling, practically singing at their proximity and ease. It felt so natural to have that connection open again that she hadn’t even noticed its re-emergence. The circles that he traced on her palm were soothing, gentle. “You once used my gift, do you remember?”

“I do.” How could she forget? The Roman ambassador was possibly scarred for life by the experience.

“This time, I used yours.”

The realisation was as startling as it was welcome. “You are able?”

“In the moment of crisis,” he said grimly, “I reached out for you and found that tendril of light and I… Pulled. I don’t know how to explain it.”

He didn’t need to. “That’s exactly how I experienced it.”

Blankly, they both stared at her stomach for a long and quiet moment. Someone had evidently changed her into her nightdress when she was asleep, the fabric pooling softly against her skin.

His hair shook over his forehead when he rocked his head back and forth, eyes clenched shut. “I was a fool.”

As his wife, her role was no doubt to reassure him. She didn’t. “Yes. You were.”

“I thought I could save you and the child by taking the blame. But I didn’t realise—”

“That we would still be in danger? That the army would march anyway? That your death wouldn’t prevent mine in childbirth, or at the hands of invaders, or any one of the million ways that God sees fit to take me?”

The grip on her hand became crushing. “I only saw the risk of the Order of the First Saint.” He swallowed loudly. "I thought it was for the best." 

"I tried to trust you," she whispered softly. "I thought maybe you knew something I didn't." 

"There have been some developments," he said hesitantly, "but... now is not the time. Soon. When you are rested." 

She suddenly felt very tired again, the exhaustion sweeping over her like a wave on the sand. Closing her eyes, she slumped back against her pillows. “Next time, please, just… Speak to me first. We should be approaching these things together, should we not?”

The silence was so long that she eventually opened one sleepy eye to find him staring at her intently. It was with the same sort of awe from when she had rejected his confession in the throne room. It sparked something tender in her in return, their gifts singing happily in tandem. “Yes”, he finally said. “Together.”

“You do realise that I can’t simply pardon you, and that you’ve done so much harm that retracting your confession won’t be enough.” The truth had a bitter taste in her mouth. “You’ll need to be escorted back to the Tower, probably as soon as tomorrow.”

He looked properly chastened. “Yes.”

“Ah well.” With their gifts intertwined again, it was hard to not be optimistic on some level. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “We’ll find a solution. I’ve faced worse odds.”

There was a strange sound and it took a moment for her to realise that he was letting out a disbelieving and strangled laugh. “You're impossible,” he finally whispered, before growing serious again. “It’ll take a miracle, you realise that. I'm willing to pay for my sins if I must.”

She pulled him down for a kiss to make him stop talking before she nestled back down into the covers, ready to succumb to sleep once more. “Then we’ll make a miracle.”

Just as she was about to drift off again, she felt the baby kick, as if in solemn agreement.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Rey has pain and premature bleeding and begins to suffer a miscarriage. It's prevented in time and Rey and the baby are fine when all is said and done. 
> 
> I really should have spent this time working on my thesis but talking to WaterLilyRose about her new Tudor-era work (it's gooood, go look if you haven't already) got me so pumped for this era that I had to work this out of my system. 
> 
> Not many history notes on this chapter! Rey's fever dream is all stuff from Revelations about the end times, a common motif in that era. 
> 
> Remember Robbert (the page sleeping in front of the door)? The page who got introduced waaay way back during the first sword fight scene as Robbert, the eighth of his name in his family? That was my super lame allusion to BB-8, ahahaha, as "Bobb" is his nickname so it's "Bobb-VIII"... I think that one was maybe a bit too subtle. 
> 
> Lord Richmond is right. If you wanted to be making money as a tradesman in this era, the wool trade was where it was _at_. Also, everyone jumps to their feet when Rey stands because it's incredibly rude to sit in the presence of the monarch when they are standing. 
> 
> Now, I'm going to behave myself and disappear again until this damn thesis is submitted...


	14. Far Too High Up Sits the King at the Summit

When Rey opened her eyes again, Ren was nowhere to be seen. Instead, as she struggled to sit up, she found that is was Lady Leia who was keeping vigil next to her bed.

Lady Leia immediately perked up. “Would you take some breakfast, your Grace?”

Now that it was pointed out, Rey's stomach rumbled pointedly. “Please.”

With a few snaps of her fingers, Lady Leia sent a pageboy running for bread and cheese before she folded her hands again. “I wanted you to know that I’m so very, very thankful that you and my grandchild are well— I was horrified when I heard and set out to come here as soon as I could. And I…” She started hesitantly, before she squared her shoulders and looked up at Rey directly. “I’ve been staying away from court for the uncertainty that I couldn’t face another process of my son being imprisoned. But now, I would like… I would like to know what you plan to do with him.”

That had been Rey’s private guess for Lady Leia’s absence, but it still gave her a pang to hear it confirmed. “I would like to give you an answer,” she said tiredly as she settled against the pillows, “but I have no idea. I don’t want to execute him.”

Lady Leia’s shoulders sagged a little in relief. “Thank God.”

“But I don’t know what to do.” She accepted the bread from the pageboy, taking a soft and warm bite. There was a possibility that she would never get used to food so luxurious. “He’s fought himself into a corner.”

“That’s the way with my son, unfortunately. He seems so determined in the face of his self-immolation.”

“How do you mean?”

“I think he’s made it abundantly clear that he could leave the Tower any time he pleases,” Leia said dryly. “Without actually chaining him to a wall and making sure that the key is hidden, he could get out of anything. With just a few soldiers and a door standing between him and freedom? He would have left weeks ago if he wasn’t there for a reason.”

She had known it, but it was still strange to hear it stated so bluntly. “A reason…”

“He wants to atone,” Leia said simply. “I… I should never have sent him away to be a squire for Sno- _that man_. It looked like the right thing for his advancement at the time.” She took a deep breath. “But the way that monster twisted his mind… I’ve spent so many nights awake over it. I had hoped that this would be a new beginning, a chance for him to right some wrongs.” Her tone became sadder, coloured by years of regret and uncertainty. “But not like this. Never like this.”

Rey pecked a little at the cheese. “I want to find a way out of this for him.”

“You’re very forgiving, your Grace. I’m sure you’ll think of something, and I’m grateful.” Lady Leia leaned over and gave Rey’s hand a squeeze. Rey couldn’t help but notice the way that Lady Leia’s hands were still elegant and regal, for all that they were aged. The woman had endured so much. Somehow, it gave Rey a surge of confidence. Surely, she could endure as well.

With a determined shuffle, Rey swung her legs over the side of the bed and stuffed the rest of the bread in her mouth. “Jessika!” she called out, mumbling around the bread. “Fetch my things, please, I would like to go out today.”

Jessika looked up in surprise. “Where to, your Grace?”

“The Tower,” Rey said, already on her feet and reaching for the drawstrings of her nightdress.

Lady Leia’s smile was like a pure beam of sunlight.

\---

Getting ready took as long as it always did, layers pulled on with the help of others fussing around her. Rey stood and tried to remain as still as possible, letting her eyes rove over the stone and tapestried walls of her chamber for what felt like the millionth time. The weather outside appeared to be good, sunlight slanting through the windows and casting patterns over the rich ornamental rugs.

Everything was proceeding apace until Rey tried to call for a horse. The ladies reacted in outright panic, fluttering like a flock of doves and protesting that she was too weak.

Rey was insistent. In retaliation, they fetched Luke.

When he finally arrived, his expression was set in beleaguered disbelief. “Your Grace, you can’t ride a horse.”

Fully attired and ready to leave as soon as she could, Rey would’ve stamped her foot if it didn’t make her feel like such a child. “Why on earth not?”

“You just nearly suffered a miscarriage. No more risks.”

“I can’t stay in bed until the child comes!”

Luke crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “The physician said it would be the wisest course.”

As far as Rey was concerned, the court physician was an idiot who believed that women served no more purpose than to bear children. “That’s utter nonsense. Peasant women farm right up until they go into labour, and they all seem to have plenty of healthy babies.”

“Then…” He sighed. “At least take a litter. And the barge. It won’t even add a great deal of time to your journey.”

Rey tapped her foot, thinking it over. Finally, she turned and narrowed her eyes at Jessika. “How quickly could that be arranged?”

Jessika was already waving the pageboy out of the room. “With great speed, your Grace.”

“Very well then.” Rey turned on her heel and pointed an accusing finger at Luke. “Are you going to come running every time I try and leave bed?”

There was a bit of a twinkle in his eye when he answered. “Only if you try and ride a horse every time.”

“That would be a sight. On my way to chapel, riding a horse through the corridors of Whitehall.”

Luke chuckled. “If only that was the most scandalous thing about this regime.”

\---

Jessika had spoken true. A litter was procured in record time and Rey was soon being smoothly carried through the streets of London, hidden from prying eyes by a curtain. The barge ride was pleasant enough, with the beginning hints of spring dancing in the sunshine as they cruised along the Thames.

The guards at the Tower snapped to attention as she swept by, making her way to Ren’s private apartments. All of the servants looked stunned at her arrival, but they quickly moved to guide her there and unlock the door. Rey cast a glance over her shoulder at her attendants and ladies. “I’ll be seeing him alone, thank you. I’ll have someone fetch you when I’m ready to leave.”

“But your Grace—”

“Alone.” Her tone allowed no room for argument, and they gradually trickled away.

As she crossed the threshold into Ren’s chambers, she found him sitting at the desk, hands stained with ink, scribbling away. He waved at her vaguely without ever looking up at the parchment. “You can leave the food on the side.”

“Unfortunately,” she replied, “I haven’t brought any.”

His shock was obvious as his head whipped around. “Rey! I—,” he staggered to his feet, “I wasn’t told you were coming—”

“It was a spur of the moment decision.” She smiled at him as she went to one of the lower chairs by the fire, settling down as gracefully as she could and setting her feet near the warmth.

“Yes, well, I’m glad you’re here—” Ren marched to the door and banged a few short times before it was opened by someone unseen. “Bring watered wine,” he commanded, “and the fruit I asked to have set aside.”

There was a shuffling sound of more movement before a tray was passed to his hands and the door was locked once more. As he carried it over and set it down on the low table beside her, carefully pouring them each a glass, she saw that it held a jug and two goblets, along with a small bowl of plums.

She cocked her head at him with a smile. “I thought you didn’t like plums.”

“I don’t,” he agreed, settling into the chair across from her. It was too small for him and it creaked dangerously as he settled, stretching out his long legs. “But you do.”

For a strange moment, Rey was full of welling emotion, her heart tight. She was suddenly reminded of the last time that she had seen him properly, when they were in bed together and she could’ve sworn that he whispered words of love into her hair. Trying to keep her tone lighthearted, she laughed. “So, you had these set aside on the off chance that I visited?”

“Quite.”

Gaining confidence, she picked up a plum and gestured at him with it. “You do realise that people would think you pathetically besotted if they knew— the fearsome Kylo Ren, brought so low.”  

He shrugged, his tone casual. “They would be right. Men in love often look foolish.”

The sheer certainty and calmness of the statement made the welling in her heart all the worse. This was unlike the sparking of her gift or the power of holding the crown; it felt more intimate, more tender, and it was absolutely without precedent in her life. She opened her mouth but no words would come, it almost felt like too much when stated in the open light of day—

He took a sip of his wine, still looking supremely unconcerned as he stared into the fire. “I mentioned when I last saw you that there had been developments.”

When you saved my life, she thought, still reeling. “Yes.”

“Bazine came to visit. The Order of the First Saint has split into factions over the news of my confession, creating a power imbalance. She wants me to return and wrest control from Hux— he has denied the truth of my confession, of course, still determined to rule through a fake puppet prince.”

“I… Right,” Rey said, trying to switch her train of thought. “I heard they crowned him.”  

“Quite. I was thinking I might accept Bazine’s proposal— with the intent of scuppering the cause as a whole, of course,” he amended, before she could look too horrified. “Afterwards, I could still be arrested again.” His gaze grew darker. “Initially, I thought about doing it without speaking to you first. I thought that the betrayal would be enough motivation for you to execute me without a sense of guilt.”

She blinked at him very slowly. “Every time I start to think you might be a sensible man, you go and prove me wrong.”

His hand twitched. “I see no other outcome.”

With a deep breath, Rey looked down at her stomach, trying to envision the little person within and what it would mean to them. “You could… Escape the Tower, on a night where it’s poorly manned. Go to France. Live out your life there.”

His frown deepened, his response sharp. “No.”

“I would rather you were alive. Even if you weren't here.”

“And negate the entire purpose of my arrest? Become a focal point for more rebellion, just like the alleged princes?” He shook his head. “No, it’s not sensible. The right course is for me to be punished for my crimes.”

“Crimes that you didn’t commit!”

He closed his eyes, and Rey was suddenly struck by the depth of the rings under his eyes, the look of sheer exhaustion painted across his face. “I may not have killed the Princes, but I’ve done plenty else to deserve punishment.”

“Kylo…” She took a drink of her wine to steady herself. “What actually happened that night?”

For the first time since she had arrived, he looked uncomfortable. “I would rather not discuss it.”

“I need to know.”

Slowly shifting forwards and making the chair creak dangerously again, he put his face in his hands and sighed. “I was called to Snoke’s chambers. He cleared everyone else away and told me that the time had come where he nearly had faith in me as the heir, but that there were still two people who stood in my way. He gave me the location of the Princes— they were long in the Tower by that stage— and told me in no uncertain terms to go make the way for my inheritance clear.”

He fell into silence and Rey’s heart felt like it was beating unnaturally loudly in her ears. “And then?”

“I went to the Tower. The guards were all missing from their posts. I made my way to the Prince’s rooms, and when I got to the door, I opened it to find that the room was empty.”

“Just… Empty?”

“Empty. With a window open and knotted sheets hanging from the ledge, down to a dark corner near the outer wall.” He rubbed his face. “I took the sheets and burned them. None of the guards ever spoke of an escape. I left, went back to Snoke, and told him it was done and the bodies were in the Thames.”

She had a brief flash of the scene as he described it as if she had been there, the acrid tang of his uncertainty in her throat and the damp wind of the night against her skin. “What would you have done if they were there?”

The silence was even louder than before, nearly deafening. “I don’t know,” he finally said, voice cracking on the words. “But for that alone, I deserve to atone.”

“But—”

“Don’t you _see?_ I might have done it, Rey, carried it through for the sake of the throne. I’ve killed innocents before, even if they weren’t children. I deserve the block and it solves so many loose threads—”

“I don’t care,” she interrupted with a snarl, that possessive anger rearing its head again. “I won’t allow it.”

As she watched, he shifted from tired to irritated, familiar territory once more. “For God’s sake, it would be the best thing for the realm, I don’t see why you won’t do the reasonable thing.”

“People often are compelled against the reasonable thing,” she snapped back, “when they’re in love.”

The look on his face was sheer wonder and heartbreak combined. For a sharp moment, it felt like he was looking straight into her soul, seeing past the years of hardship and struggle to the very heart of who she was. It was terrifying, but she held firm, keeping his gaze even as every inch of her screamed to shrink away.

The bells of the chapel suddenly cut through the air with their chime, jerking them out of their reverie. She looked towards the window, where the sun was starting to set. She had a sense that they weren’t going to reach a détente today. “I should return to Whitehall,” she said hesitantly, “but this isn’t settled. We have to make a decision together.”

He stood wearily and helped her to her feet with a sigh. Before she could walk to the door, he gave her a slow and gentle kiss, full of all the unspoken promises that she could feel in her gift.

She kissed back, hungry for affection, desperate with hope that they would survive this unscathed.

The journey back to Whitehall from the Tower felt much longer than the journey there. For the whole barge ride, she wrapped herself tightly in her cloak against the chill, longing for the silence and privacy that a monarch could never have.

\---

Deep in the middle of the night, Rey was roused from restless dreams by a frantic pounding on her bedchamber door.

She staggered out of bed and onto her feet, heart in her throat, as Jessika did the same. Had the Order of the First Saint somehow arrived without their knowing? How was that possible? What if— had something happened to Ren? Her heart froze at the possibility, her fingers shaking as she fumbled to light a candle. Surely, she would’ve felt something through her gift, had he come to any sort of harm?

The weak light illuminated an absolutely terrified Bobb standing at the bolted door, bravely holding his sword out despite his white face and shaking hands. Just as Rey was about to urge him not to do anything foolish, a voice called through the door. “Your Grace! It’s Captain Finn! Please, it’s urgent!”

Her heartbeat slowed a little. “Open it,” Rey commanded, gesturing to Bobb. One hand still struggling to hold the sword aloft, he lifted the latch, letting the heavy door swing inwards.

Finn burst in and cleared the room in three paces, going straight for Rey and shoving a piece of parchment into her hands. He looked as shocked as she’d ever seen him, the whites of his eyes clear in the flickering light.

Rey tried to unroll the parchment while holding the candle. “What in God’s name—”

Grabbing the candle from her, Finn held it steady over the message. “Just read, your Grace. I decoded it— it arrived by messenger less than an hour ago after being delivered directly to me, to be given to you.”

Finally holding it steady and in the light, Rey squinted at the spidery ink that trailed across the page.

 

_Both princes alive. Found in Flanders, hiding in monastery near Nieuwpoort. Delivered here by Sir San Tekka, who died on last leg of journey._

_Returning to court with them. Should only be few days behind this message._

_Dameron_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost all noble boys were taken into other households at the age of 7 to become squires, all as a part of training for knighthood. I envision this has being how Snoke originally got his hands on Kylo. 
> 
> Carriages didn’t reeeeally exist at this point. They were incredibly expensive and, without springs, hella uncomfortable. Litters (carried on shoulders) were much simpler and smoother, and travel by boat along the river was the preferred method for monarchs. The Tower is built on the river, after all, as is Henry VIII’s famous palace, Hampton Court. 
> 
> Flanders! It’s in the northern part of Belgium now. Historically, they’ve had a very good relationship with England because of the wool trade- wool being England’s biggest export on the cusp of the reformation (which is when this is set). The vast majority of it was produced by English monasteries that kept massive herds on their great tracts of land (snerk). There’s a great six-part show by the BBC called “Tudor Monastery Farm” that gets into the nitty gritty of what that looked like by having a historian and two archeologists recreate the life for a summer. You might be able to find it on YouTube, I highly recommend it. 
> 
> Flanders also has a positive historical and royal connection with England, as they helped Isabella (Edward III’s mother) invade England and depose her husband Edward II in exchange for Edward III marrying a Flemish princess. He picked Philippa out of four sisters when they were both teenagers, and by all accounts they were an uncommonly devoted royal couple. Aw <3 
> 
> CHECK OUT THE [**AMAZING EDIT**](https://poethrotsvitha.tumblr.com/post/161087450825/yes-my-darling-historical-au-reylo-not-even) THAT **YES-MY-DARLING** ON TUMBLR MADE INSPIRED BY THIS FIC HOLY SHIIIIIT STILL SCREAMING
> 
> Please use the comments section to yell at me for not working on my thesis


	15. So at this Hour Without Delay, Pluck the Vibrating Strings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> HELLO. 
> 
> The writer's block on this piece was _fierce_. It was so paralysing that trying to write was causing me a lot of stress, so... I put this fic down for a while, always intending to come back to it. Writing my [**new dark fic (CHECK THE TAGS)**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11785977/chapters/26577630) helped to get the words flowing again, so that was partly what ended the drought. As was the looming date of TLJ, and how I wanted to finish this fic before then. But in the end, it was a delightful bus ride today that took me over rolling hills and past nestled stone cottages and barns (with the [**soundtrack from Wolf Hall**](https://youtu.be/uW_1-9E9fFE) playing in my headphones) that really got the inspiration rolling. I could practically imagine Rey and Kylo galloping across the countryside. 
> 
> TO RECAP THE PLOT (because damn, I barely remembered what was happening when we left off): 
> 
> Rey is now heavily pregnant and dealing with a skittish and nervous court. The Order of the First Saint, led by Hux, is gaining support in the North and has crowned their supposed "lost prince" as the rightful heir. To try and subvert this, Kylo confessed (falsely) to the murder of both princes. He now awaits sentencing in the Tower. At the very end of the last chapter, Captain Finn delivers a message to Rey saying that spy-master Dameron has found the princes in Flanders, and they are soon to be back in England.

Beyond the window of Rey’s chamber, she could see her little garden, just beginning to unfurl in the promise of spring. Even through the pieces of warped glass and the lattice of metal that held them together, she could just make out the spots of colour, mere suggestions of the riot of glory that would soon follow.

Pressing her fingertips to the chilled panes, she dwelt on one phrase. It felt as though she might have been asking the question of herself, or perhaps asking the world— but in reality, her question was only destined for one person: _Are you ready?_

If she closed her eyes, Rey could almost imagine the thought flying over London. Past the sleepy children stumbling out of bed onto cold floors, the merchants gathering their wares for the day, the aldermen putting on their grand robes. Over thatched roofs and church steeples and high walls, to the Tower, along the lines of guards with their plumed hats and the narrow corridors. It seemed so unlikely, so wondrous that she could have found another with this gift, so impossible that she still held her breath in fear that she would get no response.  

 _Ready_ , Ren’s voice rumbled, and all was well. 

 

\---

 

People lined the walls on their feet, pressed nearly to the front of the room. Those who had been unable to fit spilled out beyond the doors, with some even standing below the windows outside of the audience chamber in the hope of hearing what was about to happen.

As Rey entered, walking to the dais and throne, she surveyed the room. Those assembled hurriedly knelt, some with more youth and grace than others.

Normally, at this point, Rey would be seated and allow everyone to rise. Today, knowing that Ren would be kneeling, she remained standing. It felt good to lessen the distance between him and the rest of the court.

“Lead in the prisoner,” she called out, pleased that her voice didn’t betray her by shaking.

Ren, hands bound in front of him in manacles, was led into the room by two soldiers. When he reached the bottom of the dais, he shufflingly knelt down, the very picture of contrition.

“Read out the charges,” Rey said, sweeping her eyes over the crowd. Even though most gazes were still trained on the ground, a few people peeked out under their hoods and hats, trying to catch a secretive look at the high drama that was unfolding. This would be a story to be told to children and grandchildren; _I was there when the Queen sentenced her husband to death_. For surely, in the face of his confession, that was the only possible outcome.

Luke cleared his throat and held out the parchment. “Prince Kylo Ren is accused of high treason for the murder of the heirs to the throne, Edward and Richard. Her Grace, Queen Rey, Ruler of England, Scotland, Ireland, and France, will now declare her judgement.”

There was no sense in dragging it out. She spoke the words crisply into the silence. “Based on knowledge previously unknown, we find the prince to be innocent of all accusations.” Jaws dropped all over the room. Lord Richmond even made to half-stagger to his feet, as if to argue, but Rey held up her hand. “His confession was falsely made, in an attempt to discredit the Order of the First Saint and their fake heir.” The disbelief in the room was growing thicker with every word that Rey spoke. “As evidence, may I present their highnesses, Lord Edward and Richard, former heirs to the throne.”

The boys stepped into the room from a side chamber, guided by a gently shepherding Sir Damerson. Entirely uncowed by the amount of attention on them— they were born to this, after all— they walked to Rey’s side, where they each took one of her hands.

Absolute _hell_ broke loose in the chamber. At least six counsellors were yelling. Everyone was visibly prodding their neighbours, pinching themselves, as if confirming that they were not the only one seeing this unfold. The guards were undoing Ren’s menacles, and those forced to observe from outside were desperately trying to follow what was happening, calling out their frustration and asking for an explanation. A dozen women were weeping openly in shock, their flustered husbands trying to hush them with no success. Lady Holdo fainted in a swoon. When it became clear that she wasn’t going to wake any time soon, two pageboys had to be summoned to carry her out of the room.

 

\---

 

“What now?”

For such a slight young man, the elder former heir spoke with a great deal of confidence. He squared his shoulders and faced the room, but Rey could see the bravado in the pose, the desperate shadow of fear still in the boy’s face. It was no wonder that the child was afraid, nearly unnaturally skinny after months of living in a sparse foreign monastery. If anyone could sympathise with that, it was Rey. 

They had all retired to a small side-chamber to wait for the furore to die down. It was a tight fit. Rey practically took up enough space for two people, and Kylo was a hulking giant to begin with. Lady Leia’s diminutive stature was mitigated by the sheer force of her presence, and Lord Solo was leaning on a wall beside her, looking thoroughly pleased about all of the ongoing excitement. Luke had pressed himself into the corner to leave room, but that still left Captain Finn and Dameron jammed terribly close together. Not that they seemed to mind.

“Now,” Rey answered the boy, “you will be watched by Sir Dameron, and he will devise some forms of education and amusement for you. You are not the heirs any longer,” she stated definitely, unconsciously touching her fingertips to her stomach, “but you will still be treated with great respect, as is your due.”

The boys looked at each other. The younger one had spent this whole time shooting nervous glances at Ren, and Rey wasn’t sure that she could blame him. Her husband looked as unfriendly as ever, face drawn from strain and dressed all in black. The boys had met Rey before— she had insisted that Dameron bring them to her straightaway, as soon as they had arrived, barely two days earlier. Since then, they’d had time to get used to the new Queen. But Ren was a figure from their past, and a contentious one at that.

“That…” The older boy cleared his throat. “That will be acceptable,” he said, as haughtily as he could muster while being two feet shorter than everyone else.

“I’m pleased to hear it.” Rey gestured to Dameron. “Go with Sir Dameron now, and Captain Finn also- I have tasked him with your protection. Out of the side door, if you will,” she corrected hastily, when they tried to go back to the main audience chamber. No need to add more excitement to the day by letting the princes be mobbed by a hysterical crowd.

When they were gone, Rey turned to her trusted mentor. “Luke,” she said, “I can trust–”

“That I will go take care of the disaster unfolding outside?” Luke finished wryly. He turned to his sister. “May I rely on your political acumen to assist me?”

Lady Leia merely snorted by way of answer. Arm in arm, they sailed out, Lord Solo raising his eyebrows with an amused smile before he followed them.

This left only Rey and Ren in the room. Several guards stood outside the door, of course, but otherwise they were alone. Ren took advantage of it by crossing the chamber in three strides, cupping her face, and giving her a long kiss. It ended with their foreheads pressed together, Ren awkwardly bending over to accommodate her stomach, their gifts sighing in tandem at the sheer relief of proximity once more.

They breathed synchronously, in and out. It felt so right to be together again.

When Ren spoke, his voice was tense with worry. “Your plan is foolhardy, I hope you know this.”

The plan that he spoke of had been devised barely in a matter of days, their gifts humming with intrigue as they plotted together while miles apart. “I think it’s our best chance,” she replied lightly. 

“I would rather just charge at Hux with an army. Tomorrow.”

“Without me? Not a chance.”

His hold tightened. “The risk—”

“It’s how I won the throne,” she snapped back, “and it’s how I intend to keep it.”

Resigned, his hands slackened and traced up and down her arms. “Do you really think the court will believe you’re so far from term?”

They both looked down at her stomach. “It’s a bit of a stretch,” Rey acknowledged grudgingly, “but then again, have you recently looked at yourself in the glass? You’re _enormous_.”

That made him break into a broad and crooked smile, one that warmed her right to her toes.

“Besides,” she added, “no one knows the actual date of conception. We simply move the beginning of the confinement, and no one is the wiser. And then…” Rey took a deep breath. “With the dates obscured, I can recover before we make our move.” That was the crux of the plan, the central matter that everything else hinged upon. Rey had to be there to take on the army. She couldn’t without some time to heal. Stating it out loud made it terrifyingly real after the forty-eight hours of merely bouncing ideas, and she couldn’t help but cling to Ren a little tighter at the thought.

“If you _insist_ on going,” Ren replied, hunching even lower to kiss her once more, “you do so with me at your side.”

 

\---

 

The scheduling of her confinement was announced with great pomp. If anyone thought that the date was later than they expected, no one stated so out loud. The entire court too busy smiling, pleased at the reassurance of an impending heir and all the stability that it represented. It seemed enough to even offset the reveal of the princes and worries about what they may represent as potential rivals. The initial hysteria at their return had subsided fairly quickly- Rey wasn’t sure that she would ever stop being surprised by how quickly things became Old News at court. 

And so, the news about her confinement was embraced. Her choice of regent, however, was less happily welcomed.

Standing in front of a circle of her counsellors, Rey had made her declaration with calm certainty. “In my absence,” she said, staring down each of the men in turn, “I have delegated the power to act on my behalf to my husband.”

There was a murmured rumble of dissent, and Richmond— never able to contain himself, it seemed—  blurted out what the rest of the room was thinking. “But he was accused of treason!”

It was Luke who spoke up in response, with his customary soothing tone. “And was cleared of all charges.”

“He _confessed!_ ”

“Under duress, and for the good of the realm. What could be more loyal?”

No one seemed to have a response to that.

Resting her palms on her swollen belly, Rey cleared her throat. “The formal procession to my confinement will take place after a special morning mass. My ladies, of course, will be joining me. Lady Leia has promised to act as a go-between in matters that will need my attention.” The truth, of course, was that she could simply pluck the knowledge from Kylo’s head- but it seemed unnecessary to alarm her councillors even further. “When it comes, I require your loyalty in this trying time.”

The immediate sound of assent could not quell the lingering air of unease.

 

\---

 

Events moved quickly after that. Confinement, when it came, was a dull and smothering thing. Almost literally: the fire was kept stoked so high that the room was always swelteringly hot, with only one small window open to allow fresh air and light. The rest were draped in heavy tapestries depicting the many miracles of the Lord, occasionally interrupted by a female saint being beheaded or spat out of the mouth of a dragon. Rey’s requests for the tapestries to be taken down were sternly declined by Lady Leia. Fresh air was, after all, where illness would come from. And light could damage a mother’s eyes.

Surrounded by a slightly alarming number of crucifixes and candles, Rey lay under piles of blankets, listening to Jessika recite spiritually uplifting psalms.

This all meant that she spent more time lazily dwelling in Kylo’s mind, soaking in his surroundings and his reactions. He indulged her, perhaps more than he should have. Even though it bored him, he spent hours poring over the newest and most trendy French romances so that she could read them. He passed each sunset sitting in her garden, taking in the flowers as the slanting rays hit them at her favourite time of day.

The court chalked this all up to the strange behaviour of an anxious new father-to-be.

It was as he was sitting in the garden one such afternoon, alone save the twittering of the birds, when a cloaked figure approached him. Kylo- and Rey, the unseen passenger- looked up as Bazine’s sharp features revealed themselves.

Her blood red mouth curled upwards in a smile. “You sent for me.”

Rey could feel the revulsion as Ren forced out his next words, but he didn’t survive this long by not being able to do distasteful things. “I’ve thought about your offer. To take up arms with the Order of the First Saint.”

“And?”

“I’m ready.”

Bazine’s eyes narrowed. “What made you change your mind?”

“Over the past few weeks, I have realised…” He knelt forward and placed his elbows on his knees, facing the rose bush, unwilling to look Bazine in the eye. Let her think it was his wounded pride. “Even if I have been pardoned, my… _Wife_ is never going to let me have any influence over our child. She is too wary, now. I will effectively be a stranger to my own blood. The only way to yield any influence is if she is gone.” His voice was impressively flat, given that Rey could feel the way his temper roiled underneath.  

Limited as she was to Ren’s view, Rey couldn’t see Bazine’s expression, but her tone spoke of skepticism. “I had thought that your appointment as regent signaled her full trust.”

Ren’s reply was laced with just enough genuine bitterness that it was believable. “I can do nothing without my Mother’s approval. Like I’m a squalling child, instead of a fully-grown man.” He never had _quite_ forgiven his mother for lacing his soup with sleeping draught, no matter how many times Rey pointed out that their marriage never would have happened without Lady Leia’s intervention.

Bazine’s skirts were a whisper on the ground. She settled herself beside Ren on the stone bench, her fingers tracing his. “What do you need?”

“I can’t leave now,” Ren said bluntly. “I need to ensure the child is born safely. It is also… When she will be most vulnerable. After the birth, before she is churched.”

“That is also what Hux was thinking,” Bazine breathed.

“I will send word.” Ren stood, pulling his hand away. “You can tell Hux; he should strike as soon as the baby is born. Have him encamp the men near the city when the time is a few days out.”

“And when the war is won?”

“Hux will have to content himself with a baronetcy,” Ren said dismissively. “The usurper Queen can be sent to a nunnery. And the so-called princes can all disappear once more. Nothing will stand in the way of my son and...” Watching, far away from the safety of her room and under the covers, Rey tasted the bitterness on Ren’s tongue as he forced out the next words with a heavy-handed suggestiveness that left no doubt about Bazine’s implied role in the future. “Any future heirs.”

Bazine smiled with her teeth. “Your Grace.” 

With only a nod, Ren then left the garden, moving faster and faster along stone corridors until he was able to step into an empty room; without hesitating, he grabbed a platter that sat on the table and hurled it against the wall with an almighty crash.

Rey tried to soothe him from a distance, sending reassurance. _H_ _ush, there's no need to destroy anything. This is all according to our plan_.

“I don’t like it,” he snarled aloud to the empty room. “I want her dead.”

 _Hold fast, my love_ , she whispered. _All in good time_.

 

\---

 

The rumblings in her body started in the dead of night. Rey had never experienced an earthquake, but she had been told of them by travellers— she imagined that this was what they felt like, though without the deep and rolling pain that wracked her body.

She was already surrounded by her closest ladies. Lady Leia had been immediately sent for when Rey awoke to realise that her water had broken, the damp sheets an uncomfortable addition to an already-uncomfortable situation until Jessika had been able to strip the bed.

“We can do this,” Lady Leia kept whispering over and over. “We are fortunate that it’s night. Jessika, do you have the leather?”

Jessika nodded, face white as a sheet, and passed it to Rey.

“Anna,” Lady Leia directed sharply to one of the other special few chosen to be present for the occasion, “seal up the cracks of the doors with the extra tapestries. But first—”

“Go confirm with the guards that they’re to keep everyone away from this part of the palace,” Anna recited, only stuttering a little over the words. “I remember. I remember.” She darted away, running to complete her task.

Far away, in a different bedroom, Ren was also awake. He was pacing, whole body held taut with tension. _Are you all right? Is it all going as it should?_

 _It is—_ she broke off when another shudder ripped through her body, harder than the last. She managed to shove the leather between her teeth and bite down just in time, letting out a furious whine of pain rather than a shriek the way she wished to.

 _I’m coming_ , Ren snapped, everything about his gift rippling with panic. _I’m going to—_

 _You will do no such thing!_ Rey yanked the bit from her teeth and hissed out a breath as the convulsions stopped, letting her catch her breath. _This must be as a normal night for you_. 

_Then I’m going on an evening walk,_ he replied grimly, _to remind the guards about what happens to their loved ones if the news of this birth reaches the world_.

Rey barely registered Anna’s return and the frantic movement of cloth being shoved into any and all places where sound might leak. _They’re good men, I trust them._

There was a long silence before the truth spilled out of Ren in a panicked jumble. _Christ above, I just need something to_ do, _I can’t sit here and wait while you—_

Anything else that he may have been trying to convey was lost as Rey’s body contorted again, harder and faster this time, and every part of her mind closed down to focusing on the immediate.

 

\---

 

The pain was such that time became meaningless. There was only pushing, straining her entire body, trying to force her way through the endless waves of contractions. There was Lady Leia, gripping her hand tightly and whispering encouraging words. There was Jessika, holding a cloth to her brow and occasionally lifting water to her lips.

Then, at last, there was stillness.

The sweat was trickling down Rey's brow and along her neck, and everything was wet and messy and sticky. The stillness was deceptive, with the first shaking shocks of afterbirth rattling her body, just as she had been warned about. She had never been so exhausted in her life: every muscle aching, her body strangely empty and warped around stretched skin.

Even so, lying back against the pillows, Rey closed her eyes and smiled as she heard the first reedy cry split the air.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [**Confinement**](http://historicalhussies.blogspot.co.uk/2011/09/guest-elizabeth-chadwick-medieval.html) sounds like the fuckin wooooorst
> 
> I went back and forth almost obsessively about the gender of the baby. The pros and cons of both (narratively speaking) mean that they're equally interesting to me. I thought about flipping a coin, but then I decided it might be more fun to open it to a vote. So, put your preference in a comment! I leave the decision in your capable hands!


	16. The Wheel of Fortune Turns: I Go Down, Demeaned

It was hard to believe that something so wondrous, so fully formed, could have come from an experience as difficult and painful as birth.

With gentle fingers, Rey ran the pad of her thumb along her son’s red cheeks, admiring them for what must have been the thousandth time. He had lashes that seemed impossibly long on such a small creature, his lips pursed as he dozed in a milk-drunk haze, occasionally twitching in his sleep. She could see bits of Ren in the tilt of his eyes, bits of her in the bend of his little nose— a miracle indeed. A miracle among many that had led up to this point.

Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, she tried to count the number of times that pure serendipity had intervened in her life to ensure that things had fallen exactly as they had. It was an impossible task. Like counting grains of sand falling through an hourglass.

The room was still tightly shrouded, closed up as if her confinement were stretching on as planned. Leather was stuffed into door edges and window sills to prevent the baby's hungry cries from reaching the public. A wet nurse rocked by the fire, a pleasant and hearty woman of Leia's choosing. Very loyal, Leia had promised. Absolutely trustworthy. Rey's plan would have been hampered if she had to cope with unexpectedly leaking milk from her breasts— and so, begrudgingly, she handed the boy over, always snatching him right back as soon as the feeding was over. The wet nurse was a patient, gentle woman and quickly proved to be worthy of Leia's recommendation. But for Rey, so long without a family, it felt like it would be another lifetime before she could truly believe that she had a little person of her own making. She had to be touching him to be certain he was real. When his heartbeat was softly beating against her own, she could finally relax.

Time was an abstract thing inside this cocoon of heat and dim light that was her lying-in, the world outside a mere dream compared to the immediacy and ever-present needs of the baby. Still, Jessika anxiously peeled the curtains back once every few minutes, peeking out into the dark outside. The day had come, and they were all waiting for the signal. For dawn.

Rey had nearly fallen asleep when Jessika pulled at the curtain and lurched to her feet. "The sun is up," she said, face drawn. "It's time. The sun is up."

Leia just drew her needle through her embroidery once more. "We still have to wait for the Prince to arrive."

"Yes, but the sun is the signal, so surely—"

As if on cue, there was a rap at the door. Jessika skittered across the room and fumbled to turn the ancient lock, lifting the latch with some effort. Ren had to duck to make it through the low stone doorframe, Captain Finn, Han and Luke close on his heels.

The room was silent as Ren went directly to the bed— to Rey and to his son.

He had seen the child once before, three weeks earlier. It had been impossible to stop him from frantically confirming that mother and child were safe in the aftermath of the birth, that they both breathed and would continue to do so. But it had been a whirlwind of him staring as Rey's ladies tried to clean up the blood, the cord of the baby being tied off as the wrinkly little thing wailed and shrieked. Looking a bit pale, Ren had been shepherded back out before long by his tutting mother. Since then, he had obeyed orders and stayed away, not willing to risk the ruination of the plan. He had watched through Rey's eyes, yes, but that couldn't truly replace physically being there himself.

But now. Now, he had a chance to drink the boy in. Rey held out their son and he took the child gingerly, nearly able to cup the entirety of the swaddled creature in his large hands. Rey was torn between wanting to drink in his every reaction and expression and feeling like she was somehow intruding on a deeply private moment. Everything between their bond had shrunk down to focus on this tiny bundle of life, the proof of something that they had made together. He looked awestruck, nearly afraid, until he slowly tucked the baby against his chest and buried his nose in the soft tufts of hair, breathing in the sweet-soft smell of his son.

Off to the side, Leia watched with over-bright eyes, Han’s gentle hand on her shoulder. She had privately confessed to Rey many days earlier that she had not believed this day would ever come.

Breaking the moment, Luke turned his frown on Rey. “I wish you would reconsider.”

“We have to try,” she said confidently, slipping out of bed and into her shoes. Jessika hurried to help her into a simple dress, something that went over her shift and would allow a range of movement. “Should something happen, will you guide my son the way you guided me?”

Luke’s frown turned to something more solemn and serious, staring at the baby in Ren’s arms with gravity. "I will watch over him with my life.”

Reaching out, Rey took his hands and pressed a kiss to the backs of his gloves, trying to express her trust and gratefulness for her mentor. "Thank you," she said softly, lump growing in her throat as she suddenly became aware that her new family extended far beyond just her husband and the new baby. "Thank you."

\---

The fog rolled thick over the city, low roofs of the tightly packed houses barely visible from the cobbled streets. Even so, the bells rang clear and true, each gong meant to spread the wondrous news: the Queen was in labour. The heir was coming. All along the Thames, people waited restlessly for the news— would it be a boy? A girl? Would the child survive? Would the _Queen_ survive?

No one dared to ask aloud of what would happen if she didn’t. To ponder the death of the monarch was, after all, treasonous.

Instead, people drifted back and forth, anxiously tapping feet and wringing hands. Even the palace of Whitehall, normally full of activity, was oddly suspended as servants and courtiers alike found themselves unable to settle to a task.

Nothing was particularly noteworthy about the two caped figures who quietly exited through a lower kitchen door.  Unnoticed by all, they untied their horses and rode into the mist.

\---

Once they were clear of the walls of London, Rey spurred her mount to a gallop, Ren close behind. They stayed on what roads existed as they sped towards the marshy lowlands to the north of the city. To anyone else, the dense fog would have presented a serious challenge when it came time to find Hux’s army. But not to Rey. She only had to close her eyes and reach out to feel the mass of humanity on the horizon, a cluster of people and emotion in a place that otherwise should be empty. They were exactly where Bazine had said they would be, exactly where Ren had told her to send them when he had gone to reveal the supposedly imminent arrival of the Queen going into labour.

Just as the hazy outline of pitched tents came into view, Rey slowed her horse, Ren drawing to a stop beside her. Silently, they took a long moment of deliberation side by side. 

Ren cleared his throat. “It’s not too late to turn around. We could fetch the army.”

“There’s been enough bloodshed already. I believe I can do this— help me down, please.”

Dismounting with ease himself, Ren walked to her side and held out his arms. As she slipped from the horse and into his embrace, Rey nuzzled against him, reminded of their own difficult separation of the last few weeks. He smelled so good, his presence so reassuring as he drew her close. They rocked on the spot together, breathing each other in. Even their mental closeness could not replace this. Their gifts sighed in tandem at their proximity. This was how they were _meant_ to be.

Ren cupped her face in his hands, giving her a feather-light kiss. “If I feel like you’re losing yourself, I will do _anything_ to bring you back. Even if it means failure. Then I’ll throw you on that horse and ride like the hounds of hell are on my heels.”

She wanted to respond that it wouldn’t come to that, but the truth was she didn’t know. She’d never attempted something on this scale before— never with the support of another with the gift, never with this sort of subtlety. It was an unknown.  

Instead, she gave him one last long and lingering kiss. He tasted like the cloves he liked to chew on absentmindedly. It drew up an image of them both sitting by the fire, idle at the end of the day, peaceful and quiet. They would get back to that place, she promised herself. Their son would bounce on his father’s knee and they would talk and laugh and have the future to look forward to.

Taking half a step back, Rey was about to bend and unlace her boots when Ren stopped her with a scoff and a hand on her arm. He immediately went down on one knee, lifting her skirts and tenderly untying the laces before he helped her slip out of each shoe. Holding onto his broad shoulders for support, Rey couldn’t help but let her fingers drift to his hair, stroking the silky softness and massaging his scalp until he hummed. The stockings went next, until Rey could feel the grass between her toes, the mud seeping against her skin from the wet ground.

He stood again and held her face between his hands once more, hunching over so that they could press their foreheads together. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Rey breathed, and she closed her eyes.

\---

The earth here was fertile.

Below the grass, Rey could feel the layers of promise that existed only in the future— but she could also feel all of the death that _led_ to that life. Ren’s influence, perhaps. Even further below, there were bones of monsters that slept in an eternal slumber. They could stay there. They had earned their peace.

Once she felt firmly anchored in the roots of the world, she reached outwards. Rippling like a rock falling into a pond, she sent out waves of her gift, feeling her way to the encampment. The first person she encountered was a sentry; he was young, painfully young, and afraid. He had signed up for the rebellion because he hoped for a better future for himself and his mother, but now he doubted the whole venture. He took no notice of Rey, more focused on his hunger and the anxiety of a battle to come.

In that moment, she held his life in her hands. She could feel the pull of Ren’s gift, promising the easiness of ending the boy's life entirely. It would be so easy to extinguish that light. Just a puff of air, a smothering press, and he would move on to the ever-after. Everyone who threatened her future— who threatened her _son’s_ future— could be snuffed out entirely. Gone forever.  

But then… What kind of example would that be to her son?

What kind of future would that leave for her people?

No future at all.

Instead, Rey focused and steadied herself, deftly twining her gift and Ren’s together. She wove them tightly and breathed out, forcing herself to relax. Reaching into the young man’s mind, she applied _just_ the right amount of pressure.

The sentry’s mind faltered. With barely any resistance, his eyes fluttered shut, his breathing slowed, and he peacefully slumped to the ground in a deep and dreamless sleep.

\---

If perfecting the right balance had been hard with one man, it was a challenge with a hundred. It was a trial with a thousand. And it was nearly impossible with the eight thousand strong that made up the enemy camp.

Still, Rey persevered, wringing every last bit of energy that she had into the process. Soon it became impossible to distinguish each individual mind, to know their histories or their motivations. She could not even have said which were peasants and which were generals. Hux would have been somewhere in the crowd, but she could not have picked him out any more than she could have picked a Queen out of an anthill with her bare hands. It was just wave after wave of humanity, pulse after pulse, gradually growing more panicked as it became impossible for those still awake not to notice the crowds of their fellow soldiers suddenly dropping to the ground.

Somewhere around the five thousand mark, Rey began to lose herself.

It was subtle, at first. She merely felt more connected with her gift than usual, as if the earth was in her very blood. But then she began to have trouble distinguishing herself from the world around her; she was in the air, the birds, the trees. She could feel every blade of grass. The heartbeats of every soldier matched with her own. Aware of such possibility, it seemed painfully clear that her body was a limiting, closed shell. Why would she stay there when she could be so blissfully free instead?

She could simply let go. It would be so nice to be free of human pain. One with God’s grace.

As the last of the soldiers fell, claimed by forceful sleep, that freedom was in sight. All she had to do was just detach from her body, to let go of her mortal binding—

_Come back._

She knew that voice. Where did she know that voice from?

 _Come back_.

It wasn’t just a voice that she knew. It was a voice that she _loved_. Yes, she thought, dizzily seeking its source. She needed to hear it again. She couldn't let go yet, not without hearing it at least once more. 

 _Our son needs you._ **_I_** _need you_.

Her son? She didn't have a son. How could the sky have a son? How could the very gift of life have a son—

_Rey. Rey, my stubborn, bright light. My little hellion. Come back to me._

Of course. The world ground to a halt as she recognised the voice. She was a woman, and she loved a man, and they had a son—

The wind was unbearably loud in her ears as she returned to the confines of her limbs. It felt like her soul was being crushed as her reach became limited to the tips of her fingers and her toes; she could barely fit in her body, flesh and bone entirely too cramped after being so free. The shock of it was agonising, but even as her gift shrieked in her blood, she grasped onto the shadow that was reaching out and held on tight. She had to go back. 

She was not the World. She was not merely her gift. She was Rey, Queen of England, and she needed to go home.

\---

When she opened her eyes— truly, finally, opened her eyes, the crust sticking her lashes together, her mouth dry and her lips cracked— she was staring into the weave of fine black cloth. Sensation returned to her limbs as she realised that Ren was clutching her fervently to his chest, carrying her like a bride, his grip so tight that it was nearly painful. The marsh was almost eerily quiet. “Stay with me,” he was whispering into her hair, sounding almost near tears with heavy emotion. “Stay with me. That was— _incredible_. Incredible. To think of all the choices I could have made, that I might not have known you or been with you. Thank God I am. Stay with me, Rey. My love. Please. Stay with me.”

She was too exhausted to even respond, instead letting her head fall closer to his chest, spent with exertion and relief. But it was enough. Whether he felt the flicker of her mind or the small movement of her body, he knew she was back.

Clambering onto one horse and leaving the other to retrieve later, he arranged her to onto his lap with some difficulty. The rocking motion of the horse was lulling, even if the position was awkward, and Rey let her eyes drift close as she breathed in the reassuring smell of her husband. They went slowly back towards the city walls. There was no rush any more.

The difficult part was over. Now all that was left was to alert the guard and send an army to collect the sleeping enemy.

\---

The court had been ready to hear the news of the birth. Those of the inner circle were crowded into an antechamber in preparation for the announcement. Antsy and impatient, they snacked on fruits and listlessly played at cards, ready to learn which way the future might fall. Everyone else spilled out into hallways and courtyards, occasionally glancing towards the direction of the lying-in chamber, tense in anticipation.

The Queen eventually did emerge. But when she did, the news was far different from what anyone could have imagined.  

\---

Riding out towards all corners of the land, the royal heralds swapped horses at inns to travel as fast as possible. Galloping even through the moonlit dark, they barely slowed to deliver the news to each town before they moved onto the next. No delay could be allowed.  

Amongst the jubilant announcements about the fall of the Order of the First Saint and the quelled rebellion, one proclamation was the most treasured. Celebrations sprung up all across the country, Lords and Gentlemen providing the funds to keep the townspeople deep in their cups well into the night. Although their joy may have been more about the free alcohol than the actual birth, the people jubilantly toasted all the same, shouting over the singing and rejoicing until their words slurred:

"To our good Queen Rey, the merciful! To our good Prince Ren, the atoned! And to the new heir—  God bless our good Prince Hanry!"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby boy won by a LANDSLIDE. 39 votes vs 16 for a girl. Thank you to everyone who left a comment! 
> 
> Hanry, of course, is a mix of the famous Henries of English royalty and our favourite rogue smuggler. 
> 
> It's been funny writing Luke now that TLJ is out. This was obviously written pre-our knowledge about him, so he's more of a generally grave and good mentor. Ah well, don't think about it too hard. 
> 
> [**Some more reading about Tudor births, for those of you so inclined.**](https://www.tudorsociety.com/childbirth-in-medieval-and-tudor-times-by-sarah-bryson/)
> 
> I based the size of Hux's army on the estimated number of Lambert Simnel's soldiers. He was the figurehead of the first of Henry VII's serious rebellions. It's a vanishingly small number compared to today's armies, but it would have had serious clout at the time. (Henry VII faced him with an estimated 12,000 troops.) In some ways I almost find that "8000 soldiers" _feels_ like more than "260,000 troops", only because I can kind of conceptualise it. I literally cannot imagine the scope of 260,000 people. It's too much for my brain to concretely handle. 8000, though...
> 
> I wanted to write something neat and snappy about Tudor proclamations and the spread of news at the time, but I started reading and discovered that apparently there's a complicated and heated academic debate (AKA historians passive aggressively bitching at each other) about what constitutes a "proclamation" and whether it's a legal thing or just anything that the monarch chooses to announce as being news for their subjects. That was a bit too much work for me to think about for a fanfic. So, uh, yes. News was spread by people riding horses and putting up notices that would be read aloud in the town square. Stuff would trickle out to the majority of people because of things like market days. That... That roughly sums up my knowledge on the subject. I'm not an expert, lol. 
> 
> One more chapter to tie up some loose ends, and then the epilogue! :D


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